


Match my Heartbeat to your Rhythm

by earthquaker



Series: Match my Heartbeat [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Canon typical references to child abuse, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Phone Sex, Twitter, god what a tag, like D/s for beginners light, so light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 85,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthquaker/pseuds/earthquaker
Summary: Adam’s been working so hard for this for years. He and Blue have finally got their band signed to a major record label and they’ve just released their first album. He’s not going to let some asshole from some crappy alt-rock band ruin this for him.The only good thing Ronan’s got going for him anymore is his band. The only time he feels alive anymore is when he’s got his guitar in his hands. He’s not done with the bad decisions yet though, and something about the newest signing to the label makes something in his gut tie itself in knots. It’s not a feeling he should pursue. He’s definitely going to.Or, the rival bands AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: Match my Heartbeat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189529
Comments: 282
Kudos: 381





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've been working on/thinking about this fic for so long now, so I'm super excited to be posting Chapter 1! This chapter has actually been the hardest to write, because I wanted to set the scene in a way that didn't feel clunky. I've written almost 40k for this fic already, so I'll be posting Chapter 2 in the next couple of days.  
> The tags make this fic look kind of heavy, but I promise it's not. I'm too much of a wimp for that. This chapter is as heavy as it's going to get and I've stuck a little content warning in the end notes for anyone who thinks they might need it.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

At 17, Adam Parrish is working three jobs: the garage, the trailer factory, and teaching piano and guitar to elementary school kids out of 300 Fox Way. Any free time Adam has between the delicate balancing act of working and trying to maintain his grades at school, he spends with Blue, writing songs.

Music was not a career he had ever have envisioned for himself. Adam needed something that was guaranteed to get him _out._ As much as he loved making music with Blue, it was always a hobby. One that he deemed acceptable to the shiny, chrome life he had imagined for himself; brand new car, catalogue perfect apartment in a nameless city and _oh, yes, I played a little guitar and piano in high school._

“What do you want to do Adam?” Blue asks him, one morning. They’re sat in the window seat of the Fox Way reading/phone/music room and Blue’s plucking out a song on her kalimba. It’s the new one that they finished writing yesterday and it sounds soft and mystical. It makes Adam ache a little, but for what, he doesn’t know.

“You know what I want to do,” Blue says. She wants to record an album, buy a van and go touring, and she doesn’t want to do it without Adam. If Adam leaves and goes to college, it’s not just his dream he’s giving up.

“I don’t want to give this up.” He doesn’t want to give it up, doesn’t want to lose the only thing that makes him feel like himself, like he’s got control over something. His life is like a hurricane, but when he’s got a guitar in his hands, Adam’s in the eye of the storm and nothing can touch him.

But he needs a solid way out, and music is shaky ground to build a career on. His grades are good, he’s going to Aglionby in the fall and he’ll get to a good college. Adam’s so sure that’s the path he’s on, he doesn’t think anything could knock him off it.

But then it happens. Irreversible, they tell him. Permanent damage. Adam asks the doctor how it will affect his ability to play music. It’s the first question he’s got, but she doesn’t know the answer. Time will tell, she says. Adam doesn’t cry about it.

He doesn’t cry at the hospital, and he doesn’t cry that night, trying to sleep on Blue’s floor. He has to reject his place at Aglionby. Again. But he doesn’t cry. Calla helps him find the apartment above St Agnes and after she and Blue have left, he stands alone in the cold, empty apartment and he still doesn’t cry.

He gets out his math homework instead, tries to focus on something normal. He finds his headphones, and it’s not until he puts the left one in, and remembers he won’t need it now, that he breaks. Once the tears are coming, he can’t stop them. They’re hot and they leave burning tracks down his cheeks, but they do nothing to ease the tension coiled inside him. Adam’s anger is overflowing, and there’s no one there to stop him, no one there to see him throw his fist against the breeze block wall.

He regrets it instantly. Pain flairs through his hand. His knuckles split open and blood wells up in the cracks. The shock of the pain and the sight of the blood is enough to bring him back to himself. His anger evaporates, and he’s left only with shame for letting it get the better of him.

Adam sits down hard on the mattress. He smears the blood on his right hand with the fingers of his left. _Here it is,_ he thinks. _Here’s the proof that I’m alive, that I’m a person and I can control my own life._ He thinks about how he feels with his guitar in his hands. How right it feels. Adam sits back at his desk, and he writes.

The next morning, he’s back at 300 Fox Way with a notebook full of rough music and polished lyrics. He didn’t sleep all night, but he’s never felt more awake.

“Let’s do it,” he tells Blue as soon as she opens the door. Blue doesn’t ask what he means, she just grins excitedly at him and grabs his notebook to read through what he’s written.

Car money becomes tour bus money, college money becomes recording studio money and Adam throws everything he’s got at making music. He knows they’re good and Adam’s determined that they’re going to make it.

*

A year after high school ends, a year into their emerging music career, Blue slams through the door of Adam’s St Agnes apartment and throws a copy of the local newspaper at him.

“Have you seen this?!” she says with disgust. Adam uncrumples the paper. The headline reads “ _Local band signed to major label_.” “Like it’s any kind of a big deal, it’s his father’s fucking label! That’s nepotism!”

Adam values his life too much to point out Blue’s hypocrisy. The only reason Page of Cups ever got any gigs in the first place was because of Maura’s contacts. He just quietly scans the front page of the newspaper.

_Henrietta band Nightwash signed to major record label Cabeswater LLC… made up of former Aglionby Academy students Richard Gansey III, Noah Czerny, Henry Cheng and Ronan Lynch, son of deceased rock star Niall Lynch…_

The only boy named in the paper that Adam already knows of is Ronan Lynch, and that’s only because Adam’s heard of his father. Everyone in Henrietta knows about Irish rock legend Niall Lynch and his three sons. Since the sudden death of their father, the gossip about the family had become even more salacious, particularly the gossip surrounding the middle son, Ronan.

The closest Adam has ever got to actually seeing Ronan Lynch, was when Ronan got into a fight in the parking lot outside Nino’s. Adam had gone there to meet Blue after she’d finished work, and when he arrived a teenage boy with a shaved head and a sprawling back tattoo was throwing a punch. The guy that received the punch went flying over the hood of a shiny Volvo, but he sprang back up, and quickly returned the favour. It was a week after Niall Lynch’s death. Adam doesn’t know why he remembers that detail.

“Local band,” Blue spits. “They go to that school and now they’re _local._ Would it kill this paper to support an _actual local band._ ”

“When we get signed too, they will.” Adam knows they’re going to get signed. He placates Blue, and then goes back to thinking about Ronan Lynch. In his memory, everything about Ronan was sharp edges, from the cut of his cheekbones to his cold arrogance. Everything about him screamed _stay away._ At the time, Adam thought, staying away from someone like that was going to be no trouble at all.

Adam doesn’t care about Lynch and his shitty band. He doesn’t care that they’ve been signed. Like Blue said, it’s his father’s label. Niall Lynch had invested big in the formation of Cabeswater LLC. It was inevitable that Lynch would get signed.

Maybe Page of Cups aren’t signed yet, but they’re doing well. People come to their shows intentionally to see them; they get invited to play local festivals. Earlier in the year, they recorded an EP and Adam’s got a excel sheet where he tracks the increase in their monthly listeners. People sing along to their songs. It’s happening.

Blue snorts. “Yeah, and when we do, we won’t be the first. It’ll be ‘Page of Cups, following in the footsteps of Evening Shower,’ and ‘Oh, Page of Cups, you must know Dusk Bath,’”

“Sunset Quick-spray-under-the-arms-with-deodorant.” Adam throws his own parody name in, to Blue’s delight. “Seriously though, they make completely different music to us. Beyond the Henrietta connection, no one’s going link us to them. We’ve got nothing in common.”

“Also, we’re way better. We have talent, not just rich parents.”

“Not even that.”

Blue snorts. “It’s going to happen. Persephone said it’s going to happen.”

“Is that what she meant when she said that the ocean was vast, and we were going to swim right in the middle of it?”

“Watch out for sharks.” Blue snorts again. “Watch out for fucking Nightwash.”

Adam huffs. “You need to let it go. We’ll never have anything to do with them.”

*

Almost two years later, Adam is eating his words. He’s sat with Blue in the reception area of Cabeswater Records. It’s a big, shiny room and the walls are covered in photographs of artists already on the label. Ronan Lynch is glaring at him from a poster across the reception. It’s not just Ronan on the poster, it’s the whole of Nightwash, but Ronan’s gaze is the most arresting.

Adam is definitely not looking at it. Blue is though. She hasn’t stopped glaring at it since they were left alone to wait for their meeting. Now she’s hissing, “Labelmates. We’re going to be _labelmates_ with _raven boys._ ”

Adam rolls his eyes and says to Blue, “They haven’t even signed us yet. If you don’t want to be labelmates with raven boys then we can leave.”

They won’t though. This is the biggest label that’s shown an interest in them. Adam’s read the draft contract they sent them three times already. Once for himself, once for Blue who only skimmed it, and once for himself again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He’s even had an independent lawyer look over it already and he’s got a list of questions and clarifications he wants on it, in a notebook.

They’re in the meeting for a long time. Blue’s drawn all over three pages of the notebook Adam made her bring. But eventually, after hours of meetings, and tirelessly reading over never ending legal contracts, Page of Cups leave the New York office of Cabeswater Records as the newest signees. They’ve still got more meetings schedules, a few more things to iron out, but it’s official; it’s finally happened.

*

The first time that Ronan is aware of Adam Parrish, he’s been sober for nine days and has spent every possible moment in bed. He’s hardly slept though. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees his own dead body, sees himself lying in the driveway of The Barns, exactly how he’d found his father. The visuals make him wish for the pills and the alcohol again, but then he remembers that that’s the fastest way to make the vision come true. That thought starts the whole cycle off again and so he stares at the ceiling, counting down the minutes before he can get his guitar back in his hands and feel alive again. Ronan’s glad his hands have stopped shaking. Recording an album is probably not the best time to decide to go cold turkey from both drugs _and_ alcohol. Tour’s going to be worse though. He knows somewhere out there is a betting pool over how long it will take him to break. The existence of it spurs him on; he’s going to get better out of spite.

It’s 4am but Gansey is standing over him in the fancy New York hotel room they’re sharing, talking on and on about this new band that Cabeswater have signed. He tells Ronan how there’s going to be a label party on Friday, and how it would be great for them all to go as a band because, “the label is like family.” Ronan doesn’t point out that the label literally is his family, and that reminder is unlikely to spur him into sentimentality.

“This band, they’re called Page of Cups, which I think is a tarot thing? They’re from Henrietta too, isn’t that great?” Gansey is saying.

“297 minutes until we’re back in the studio,” Ronan replies, deadpan. They’re due in the studio at 9am. Ronan and Gansey would happily be in the studio right now, recording, but people like producers and sound engineers prefer to work regular hours. 3am recordings are how they’d recorded Rex Corvus, their first album, but the label wants them to take their sophomore album more seriously. Ronan thinks Cheng and Noah had something to do with that.

“Oh, I better start vocal warmups then,” Gansey says, mildly. “Do you want to have a listen to some of their music?” He comes and settles on the bed next to Ronan, his laptop balanced on his knees.

Ronan rolls over and puts his head on Gansey’s shoulder. “I hate this,” he says, so quietly that if Gansey hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard.

“I know. You’re okay though.” Gansey’s got YouTube open and he’s pulled up a video of this new band. A girl with about a million multicoloured clips in her hair is sat with an acoustic guitar across her lap. The guitar looks ancient, held together with rainbow tape, covered in paint and with bits of ribbon hanging off it. Ronan’s pretty sure that the only reason she’s still got that guitar is for _aesthetic;_ the sound quality would be far better with a new guitar. It’s Gansey levels of pretentiousness, like how he writes all his song and lyrics ideas in that leather journal rather than save them on his phone. Not that Ronan saves any of his ideas on his phone either. But he’s not had any new ideas in weeks. Doubts he’ll have one again.

But then he’s saved from his spiral of misery by a second person entering the frame of the video. This guy is standing up, tapping at a computer. A synth backing track starts; it sounds like something from an old video game and Ronan is slowly losing interest. And then the guy sits next to the girl and Ronan’s suddenly very interested. He’s not conventionally attractive, but there’s something about his deep blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, and the high cut of his cheekbones that instantly captures Ronan’s attention. The acoustic that he’s holding is not new either, but it’s clearly been very well looked after. The guy is cradling the guitar carefully in his elegant hands and Ronan can’t look away. He could not care less about this band or whatever the girl is singing about, but he can’t stop watching the boy’s hands. It’s been a long time since watching someone else play the guitar has made Ronan feel like this; vulnerable and a little bit aroused. He shifts uncomfortably.

“What the fuck is this shit Gansey?”

Gansey looks at him in shock. The sudden outburst is probably the most eloquent he’s been in days.

“Page of Cups. Blue Sargent and Adam Parrish. I told you, they just got signed to Cabeswater.”

“You’re going to make me meet them, aren’t you?” Ronan can’t think of anything worse, than having to make small talk at a label party with this ethereal boy. Especially now, nine days into becoming the most boring version of himself yet.

“You’re okay, Ronan,” Gansey tells him again. He’s played another Page of Cups song. Adam Parrish is singing in this. He sings with an accent and his voice is like molasses. Ronan closes his eyes and for the first time in what feels like forever, he doesn’t see anything at all. He falls asleep to the sound of Gansey’s slow breathing and Adam Parrish’s singing. He doesn’t dream.

*

Ronan’s having a shit night. There are so many people at the label party and Ronan hates every single one of them. If he has to hear one more joke about his sobriety, he’s going to punch someone. He knows Declan’s here somewhere. His therapist has told him that fighting his brother isn’t a suitable outlet for his emotions, but he thinks that she might let him get away with it if she knew what he was up against tonight.

“Given up on sobriety already, Lynch?” Some guy from the label says to him. He’s got the face of a smarmy bastard and Ronan thinks it would be much improved by the addition of his fist in it. Gansey’s there though, and Ronan can’t do it, can’t punch some self-righteous label lawyer in front of Gansey.

Ronan can’t fathom why he’s actually still here at all. He follows Gansey around the party like an ominous shadow until he gets sick of the weird looks and the comments that are pitying and snide in equal parts. Ronan thinks the pity is worse, at least he knows how to deal with the snide comments.

“It’s a really brave thing to do, my girlfriend’s been sober for two years now and—” A girl with bubble-gum pink hair is talking at him. Ronan’s tuned her out. He doesn’t know what to say in reply, and when he says nothing, she gives him a sympathetic smile and squeezes his arm before disappearing. It makes him feel worse than any nasty comment could.

He's lost Gansey to a bunch of producers and executives from the label. Gansey uses these events for _networking._ Networking, like he’s not already the frontman of a fucking successful rock band. Ronan knows how much he hates it too, so he doesn’t know why Gansey does it. He can see Cheng taking shots in the middle of a cheering crowd. Noah’s already on top of a table, holding court. Six months ago, Ronan would have been right there with them.

He can’t pretend that he’d have been there a month ago though. A month ago, he wouldn’t have come here at all. A month ago, he would have—

Ronan cuts that thought off. Nothing good lies down that path. Guilt and shame churn in his gut. He should leave. He should get out before he panics or does something he’ll regret.

“—should watch out for that kid. Him and his bandmate, they’re so talented. They’re going to be massive—” Ronan overhears a snatch of conversation. He can’t think who they’re talking about.

“Page of Cups, yeah! Their demo tapes are fantastic! So much potential!”

“—Parrish? He’s a magician, did you hear—"

Adam Parrish is here. Fuck, Ronan doesn’t want to meet Adam Parrish like this. But he can’t leave, not while he knows there’s a chance of seeing him. Ronan wants confirmation that no one can look like _that_ in real life.

He needs to do something with his hands. He sits at the bar and gets a non-alcoholic beer. It tastes like piss. He picks at the label on the bottle, digging his thumb under where condensation is crinkling the paper.

Someone comes over to the bar where he’s sat and leans against it. Ronan almost chokes on his shitty drink when he sees that it is actual Adam Parrish. The terrible quality of the YouTube video did not do him justice at all. He’s so fucking beautiful and the coloured lights of the bar create rainbow highlights and shadows on his gaunt face. He looks like he’s just arrived here from another dimension and he’s looking out at the party like he disapproves of everything he sees, like he’s too good to be there. He’s so fucking unattainable and the conflicting swirl of frustration, sadness and wonder inside Ronan coalesce into white hot rage.

*

Adam’s having a shit night. This party is supposed to be welcoming them to the label, but he’s never felt more unwelcome. He thinks that maybe if he drank, he’d be having fun. _I don’t need it to have fun,_ he tells himself, but he thinks that maybe if he wasn’t having to spend the whole night discreetly depositing drinks given to him by strangers into bins and discarded glasses, he’d be having a more enjoyable night. Maybe if he knew more than a handful of people here, he’d be having more fun. Standoffishness is a personality trait that Adam’s cultivated maybe just a little _too_ well. Adam lost Blue to the dancing crowd ages ago, but he’s sure she’s having a good time. She doesn’t get why he doesn’t just tell people he doesn’t drink, but that would just invite more questions that Adam definitely doesn’t want to answer. So, he dodges the drinks, and he avoids the shots, and he tries to focus on just getting through tonight.

He talks to record label executives about their sound, and chats to music producers about their upcoming album. _This is a great opportunity to make contacts_ , he tells himself. _This is the career you chose; this is where you work for it._ He stands up tall, clips his vowels, talks to everyone like he knows exactly what he’s talking about. The execs and the lawyers and the producers, with their perfect hair and their sharp designer suits, nod along politely, but Adam can see their thoughts behind their eyes. _Who is this kid, in his thrift store suit? Didn’t know we let trash on the label now._

Adam’s not felt anxiety like this in years. He needs to find Blue, or at least needs to find somewhere quiet to organise his thoughts. He excuses himself from the conversation, pretends he can’t feel eyes watching him leave.

He finds a quiet corner down near the end of the bar and watches people carefully, turns himself so no one can sneak up on him from the left and sets his face in a way that he hopes makes him look like he belongs here.

There’s a guy sat at the bar next to him. He’s been picking the label off of his beer bottle and the only reason Adam notices him is because he’s turned to Adam and fucking sneered at him. And the only reason Adam even acknowledges this guy, who’s decided he’s got a problem with Adam for no reason, is because it’s Ronan Lynch.

“Think you’re too good to be here, Parrish?” Lynch says, and Adam hears it, hears the words he doesn’t say _because you’re not. I can see where you’re from, where you belong._ Something ugly twists inside Adam and he finally snaps. He forgets that Lynch is on his label, that Lynch has got influence on the label that Adam’s just been signed to. He forgets that fighting with Ronan Lynch could cost him everything he’s worked so hard for.

“Surprised you’re here at all, Lynch. Didn’t think this was the place for a recovering alcoholic.” He looks at the bottle in Lynch’s hand. The bright blue label that Lynch has half destroyed declares it to be non-alcoholic. He looks at it, accusingly, like he can’t see the label; hopes Lynch takes the bait. He does.

“Fuck you. You fucking asshole.”

“Oh I’m the asshole. I’m not the one taking my problems out on other people.”

Lynch actually snarls at him at that, and for a second Adam thinks he’s going to hit him. Considering what he’s just said, hypocrisy and all, it would probably be justified.

“At least I belong here.”

*

Ronan doesn’t know why he says it, but something about those words feels like going straight for the jugular. Parrish recoils from him like he’s been slapped. For a split second, he looks so hurt that Ronan actually almost apologises. But then he slams his cold glare back on his face, and it’s like the hurt was never there at all.

“Everyone’s right about you, Lynch,” Parrish says and then he pushes past Ronan and disappears off into the crowd. Ronan’s glad he thinks that. He wants everyone to think that. He doesn’t bother finishing the beer, just leaves the bottle on the bar surrounded by bits of shredded label. He weaves through the crowd until he finds Gansey.

Gansey’s stood in a corner, talking frantically to a tiny girl in an ugly dress. He looks up when Ronan casts a dark shadow across them.

“Ronan!” Gansey looks relieved Ronan’s there. Ronan knows he has a secret hatred for label parties, so he doesn’t feel bad about imposing his foul mood on them, if only briefly.

“I’m leaving,” he says to Gansey.

“Oh, but don’t you want to meet –”

“No.” No, Ronan does not want to meet whatever girl Gansey is trying to chat up. It’s clearly going badly. She looks like she’s plotting his murder and Ronan doesn’t want to get involved in that. “I’ll see you at the hotel.”

Ronan turns to leave, but fucking Parrish is right behind him. “Can’t you just fuck off?” Ronan growls at him. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just shoves past Parrish and out of the nearest fire exit.

*

Adam finds Blue talking to some guy who is actually wearing boat shoes with his suit. Talking might actually not be the right word for what Blue is doing. She’s got murderous rage written across her face and, while Adam can’t hear what boat-shoes-guy saying, he knows he’s digging himself a deeper and deeper hole by his frantic gesticulation. The irritation on Blue’s face is only building, and when she sees Adam, she impolitely excuses herself.

“Who was that?” Adam asks. So much for making friends at the label, between the two of them, they’ve probably destroyed their music career before it’s even begun.

“Richard Gansey III. He tried to give me _career advice,”_ Blue hisses. “Networking, he said! Can you imagine? He said I should put myself out there. I told him I’m not going to sacrifice my artistic integrity by prostituting myself.”

“Jesus, Blue.”

“I told him I didn’t need career advice from someone who only ever got signed because of who their parents are.”

“I imagine he took that well.”

“He was all fake self-deprecating about it. _Raven boys._ ”

Adam tells her about his run-in with Ronan Lynch. Blue’s weirdly understanding about it but doesn’t agree with him that it might get them kicked off the label.

“Entitled assholes. We don’t have to get on with them. Hell, we don’t even have to work with them ever. You’re the one that told me we’d never have to have anything to do with them. We’ll just agree to never speak of that band again. We’re supposed to be celebrating, Adam. You still need to actually have some fun.”

Adam groans. She’s right though. Tonight’s supposed to be about the culmination of three years of hard work. He lets Blue lead him to the dance floor in the middle of the club. There, he focusses on the music, focusses on the party and the fact that they made it _out._ If things keep going Adam’s way like this, he’ll never have to hear the name Ronan Lynch again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam Parrish: I guess some people just can’t take constructive criticism.  
> Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish @ me next time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way more pleased with how this chapter turned out, it was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> The only content warning for this chapter is fictional characters being idiots, but isn't that why we're all here?

The copy of Pitchfork has been sat on the side in the tour bus kitchen for a few days now. He doesn’t know why they have it, clearly, it’s materialised here solely to aggravate Ronan. Every time he sees it, he thinks about throwing it out. He doesn’t throw it out though. It’s just a magazine. It’s just a magazine. Just a magazine with Adam Parrish’s intriguingly handsome face staring indolently out of it. If he threw it out, that would be like admitting defeat.

Parrish is dressed like he’s arrived there from 1930s dustbowl America and he’s wearing fucking _suspenders._ Sargent is stood next to him, leaning against a rusted-out tractor, wearing a dress that looks like it’s made from the most hideous curtains Ronan has ever seen. They’re in a cornfield. Ronan sneers at the cover; soft, dreamy hues aren’t very rock and roll. _Virginia Indie Folk Duo Page of Cups talk tarot, small town roots and their record-smashing, genre-straddling debut album._ The whole thing makes Ronan feel irrationally angry, for a reason he can’t quite pinpoint. Every time he thinks about Parrish, he remembers the fight at the label party. And he remembers before that, thinking that he’d never seen anyone in real life quite like him before.

It's been six months, and Ronan is half wishing he could have another chance at meeting Parrish. The other half insists that Parrish is just an asshole and not worth wasting his time over. _An asshole like you,_ his brain helpfully supplies. That thought just frustrates him more, at least he has a reason for being an asshole.

Noah catches him glaring at the magazine. “Have you read their interview? They got asked about us.”

Ronan’s glad his glare has justification. “Must suck to be asked about a superior Virginia band.”

“Gansey says she used to work in Nino’s.”

“I know, he told me.”

“Did he also tell you how he met her at that label party and completely bombed trying to talk to her?”

“He did not.” Ronan doesn’t tell Noah that he’d probably done worse talking to Parrish.

“Yeah, he properly Dick-ed it up. Wish I’d seen it.” Ronan remembers seeing Gansey talking to a girl who looked like she was trying to kill Gansey with her mind. That must’ve been Sargent. But then again, chances are that he made more than one girl imagine murdering him with her mind that night.

“He’ll probably do it again.”

Noah extracts his skateboard from where Gansey had hidden it under the front lounge bench seat. “I’m going to staple all of Henry’s underwear together, you wanna help?”

Ronan normally loves the chance to help Noah prank Cheng, but right now he’s got Adam Parrish at the label party in his head. “Doesn’t sound like a two person job. He already thinks I was the one who put jello in his shoes because of you. You’re on your own.”

After Noah leaves, Ronan flips the magazine open. He finds the Page of Cups article quickly. There’re more photos from the cornfield with the article. In one, Parrish is sat on the rusted-out tractor and he’s laughing at something off camera. Ronan feels frustration in a way he hasn’t felt since he was 16; he wants to break something.

He doesn’t read the article just scans it until sees the name of his own band.

_Page of Cups aren’t the only band currently making it big to emerge from Henrietta, VA in recent years, but when I ask Parrish and Sargent their opinion on alt-rock outfit Nightwash, they exchange cynical glances._

_“They’re not really_ from _Henrietta, are they?” Sargent says. “They only went to that posh boarding school.”_

_“Raven boys,” Parrish snorts, derisively. “We haven’t listened to them much. Their music’s not our thing, but we’ve heard a little bit of it. I don’t think they’re really doing anything that’s not been done before. Maybe ten years ago it would’ve been revolutionary.”_

_“Yeah, we think that if you’re making new music, you’ve got to do something no one’s ever done before, not just rehash an old formula. Experiment.” Sargent throws some shade and refers smoothly to the Page of Cups sound which has been described by many as experimental. Sargent is, as ever, ignorant of the fact that experimental is not always meant as a compliment._

_So, I take it you never went to any of their shows?_

_“De gustibus non est disputandum,” Parrish says. In matters of taste, there can be no disputes, for those readers not versed in Latin._

_Pretentious fuck_ , Ronan thinks. It’s a sign of how bored he’s become that he immediately starts thinking of ways to get back at Parrish. They’ve got an interview with Alternative Press later today about their new album and tour. Ronan wonders if he can bribe the interviewer into asking about Page of Cups.

*

They do, no bribes necessary.

“Speaking of other bands you’re currently listening to, do any of you have anything to say about what Henrietta indie duo Page of Cups said about you in their Pitchfork interview?” the interviewer asks. Ronan hates the way interviewers segue into questions. Still, he’s been hoping for this.

“I don’t think we want to—” Gansey starts, but Ronan cuts across him.

“Honestly, fuck them. Apparently, it’s revolutionary to just shove as many discordant instruments as possible into a song. I’ll take advice from them about how we should make music when they have as many hits as we have.” Ronan knows he sounds like an asshole. If the look he’s getting from Gansey is any indication, it’s making them all look like assholes. He continues, regardless. “I don’t know a single person who wants to listen to shitty banjos and overengineered synths in one track.”

It's the most Ronan’s said all interview though, so the woman interviewing them doesn’t look put off. If Gansey does some quick damage control, Ronan is the only one who’ll actually look like an asshole in print.

Noah laughs. “I think we _should_ use more banjos in our music.”

“Yeah, Lynch. You’ve got a farm, embrace it. I think that ‘Horror in my head’ would sound great on the banjo.” Cheng’s actually laughing _at_ him. So much for Gansey’s damage control, Ronan’s comments have been turned into a joke by the hyenas he calls bandmates.

*

Adam isn’t really expecting Nightwash to have actually _seen_ what he and Blue said about them to Pitchfork. Much less respond to it.

So it’s a bit of a shock when he gets an email from their new manager, Mr Gray, with an attached scan of a Nightwash interview.

_‘If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all: A Lesson,’_ is the subject of the email. It’s addressed to Blue too, but Adam thinks it’s aimed more at him. He feels a bit guilty, maybe his comments weren’t the most professional. Being asked about Lynch had just brought back the memories of that horrendous evening, putting him on the defensive. But then he reads the interview and very abruptly stops feeling guilty.

It doesn’t matter. Adam hasn’t got the time or the energy right now to dedicate to thinking about Ronan Lynch. They’re in the middle of promo for their album, and while recording the album was hard work, the relentless schedule of press junkets, interviews and photoshoots is a whole new level of hard in a way Adam has never experienced before. So, he can’t think about Ronan Lynch. That doesn’t stop him though.

The thing is. As a teenager, Adam hadn’t given much thought to the reasons why he had a more-than-passing awareness of Ronan Lynch. The way that Adam justified it to himself, was that he’s a musician, and he could appreciate another talented musician. And Lynch is _definitely_ a talented musician. He plays guitar like an extension of himself and music flows out of him as easy as breathing. And now, as an adult, comfortable in his sexuality, Adam can admit that Lynch is attractive, all muscles and tattoos and intense, ice-blue eyes. His confidence makes him even more attractive, swaggering attitude, spitting venom on stage and in interviews, like he knows exactly how talented he is and how much bullshit he can get away with. He’s such an arrogant asshole and meeting him at the Cabeswater party only confirmed that.

What he said hurt Adam though, and honestly Adam would like to never have anything to do with Lynch ever again. But he also acknowledges that he was pretty awful to Lynch in return.

Adam knew exactly what he was doing when he started talking about Nightwash in their interview. It had been less of a question of whether or not Lynch would respond, and more a question of if he actually saw it or not.

Adam knows he could leave it at that. Knows he should. He wants nothing to do with Ronan Lynch. But he’s also morbidly curious as to whether Lynch will respond if he acknowledges the Nightwash interview.

*

There’s a tweet at the top of Ronan’s feed.

Adam Parrish: I guess some people just can’t take constructive criticism.

Ronan hates Twitter, like he hates all social media. He doesn’t know why he was even ended on Twitter in the first place; boredom, he supposes. but he’s here now. He doesn’t really think before he’s typing a response.

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish @ me next time

He puts his phone face down on the side and puts Parrish out of his mind. But as soon as the phone buzzes again, it’s back in his hand.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch are you admitting you can’t take constructive criticism?

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish no im pointing out that its rude to subtweet people

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish looks like u can’t take it either

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch I think you’d be surprised about what I can take

Ronan almost throws his phone across the room in his panic. _What the fuck? Is Parrish flirting with him? Is that flirting? What the actual fuck?_ Ronan can’t fathom why Parrish would do that. As far as he’s aware, Parrish thinks he’s an entitled asshole. But before he can think of how to respond, there’s another tweet.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch And I don’t play the banjo.

*

“What the fuck is this?” Adam looks up from Twitter to where Blue’s got her own phone open and is holding it so close to Adam’s face, he can’t actually tell what’s on it. He leans away from the phone and realises it’s open on his twitter page, specifically open on his recent tweet to Lynch.

“Twitter?” Adam tries for innocent, but Blue’s not having it.

She raises a sardonic eyebrow at him. They’re on a break, halfway through another photoshoot for a magazine, and Adam’s tired of having people poking at his face and hair and telling him where to stand and what faces to make. Tweeting Lynch felt like the best way to alleviate the boredom.

He laughs at Blue’s expression. “I’m just fucking with him. I wanted to know if he’d respond.”

“What’s the phrase about not poking bears? That’s a fucking big bear.”

“He’s not really a—"

She holds up a hand. “Don’t say it. Luckily for you, I’m on your side. If I wasn’t, I would point out that you did start it.”

“Technically he started it. At the label party. And then you exacerbated it. You were mean about them in that interview.”

“So you’re completely innocent?”

“Yes, you know I’ve done nothing wrong in my life, ever.” Blue raises an eyebrow at him and sips her tea. “If anything, I’m making things better.”

“By flirting?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Adam says, indignantly.

Blue huffs. “I would. I thought you hated him?”

“I do. Why does that mean I can’t flirt with him?”

“So, you admit it.” She grins triumphantly. “You have always had a thing for assholes.”

“Fatal flaw. And I don’t have a _thing_ for him. He’s a terrible person.”

“But you think he’s hot.” She’s not asking.

“I’m going to plead the fifth. Leave me alone, haven’t you got hair stylists to argue with? Let me flirt with the hot douchebag in peace.”

Lynch still hasn’t actually replied. Adam wonders if that means he won the round or if it means he’s had to actually do some work. Adam knows that Nightwash is on tour at the moment, and he’s all too familiar with the relentlessness of tour schedules.

*

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish would’ve thought the banjo would fit your ~vibe~

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch does that mean you play the bagpipes?

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish what?

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch I was just trying to think of what the most obnoxious, unpleasant instrument was. To go with your ~vibe~.

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish fuck u. And yes.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch wait seriously??

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish next time I see u, i’ll show u my pipes

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch is that a euphemism?

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish u wish

Gansey: @fakeronanlych @thenparrish Can I remind you both that Twitter is a public platform?

“You’ve been spending a lot of time actually using your phone,” Gansey observes as he walks through the tour bus bunks to the kitchen area. “Does this mean you’re going to start answering when I call you?”

Ronan raises an eyebrow at him from where he’s lying in his bunk. “We literally spend all of our time together. Why do you need to call me?”

Gansey splutters a little, and then he just looks sad. Last time they’d been on tour, Gansey had dealt with a Ronan that would disappear for hours and reappear with a phone full of missed calls and no clear memories of where he’d been. Gansey’s probably still getting used to the idea of a Ronan that’s always there even when he isn’t looking for him.

Gansey keeps walking and he still looks sad, so Ronan jumps out his bunk and follows him into the kitchen. On the way, he shuffles his socked feet against the shitty tour bus carpet and when he catches up to Gansey, he static shocks him on the back of the neck. Gansey yelps and jumps about a foot in the air but he’s not sad anymore.

“God! I hate when you do that!”

*

It's a radio interview where Ronan gets asked directly about Parrish for the first time. Ronan’s proven time and time again that he is not to be trusted on live radio. There’s a sound tech sat with his finger poised over a buzzer every time Ronan opens his mouth. The interviewer looks right at him though, not at all put off by Ronan’s sneer, and reluctance to answer any questions, and asks him “So, Ronan, you’ve had some banter on Twitter with Adam Parrish from Page of Cups. Care to comment on that?”

“Parrish is an asshole.” The guy controlling the swear buzzer is pressing it before Ronan’s even begun the ‘a’ of asshole.

“Ronan,” Gansey berates him. Then he turns to the interviewer. Damage-control Gansey is out. “It’s just a bit of friendly teasing. We’re from the same town as Page of Cups, and they’ve joined our label recently, so a bit of a rivalry is normal. We’re not trying to create drama.”

“I am,” Ronan says, and then ploughs on, despite the look Gansey gives him. “Parrish is exactly one of those assholes that thinks because they’ve got talent, they can condescend to whoever the fuck they want.” Again, the swear buzzer guy pre-empts Ronan. He’s the only person at this radio station Ronan’s got any respect for.

“The views and opinions expressed by Mr Lynch in this interview do not represent the views and/or opinions of Nightwash as a collective,” Henry says in a fake mechanical voice.

The radio host laughs, and the interview moves on. Ronan doesn’t participate much more, he’s too busy wondering if Parrish was listening.

When they leave the radio station and pile into the car taking them to the venue, Ronan checks his phone. He tries to ignore the fact that he actually feels nervous.

Parrish has tweeted him. _Fuck._

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch So you think I’ve got talent?

Ronan’s so fucked.

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish Talent for being a shithead

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch Moved on to middle school insults I see

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish There you go again. Condescending.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch I don’t think we’ve conversed enough for you to be able to call me condescending

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish it was enough

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch How would you like me to speak to you then?

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish Talk dirty to me Parrish

Adam replies with a rolling-eyes emoji. Ronan needs to figure out how to do that. They get to the venue and they’re rushed in to begin soundcheck before Ronan can figure out how though. It doesn’t matter, he already knows more than he ever wanted to about Twitter.

*

Four hours later, lying on a crappy mattress in a shitty hotel, Adam’s scrolling through his Twitter feed again, when he sees a new tweet from Lynch. His twitter feed thus far has only ever been Nightwash promo, clearly tweeted by some underpaid PR assistant, and argumentative tweets to Adam. This though…

Ronan Lynch: si vis pacem para bellum

_If you want peace, prepare for war._ Adam thinks back to his offhand Latin comment in the Pitchfork interview. Of course they learnt Latin at Aglionby. From what Adam knows about Ronan Lynch though, he’s surprised he paid attention. There’s not really another way to read it though; the tweet is clearly aimed at Adam. He thinks about tweeting back at Lynch something about how he thought sub-tweeting was considered rude, but then decides it’s too obvious. He starts typing.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch Is Nightwash what you call it when you have a shower in the evening?

Lynch’s reply is almost instant.

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish maybe u should try some of that originality ur always talking about

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch I will if you will

It’s not the best response, but Adam feels under a weird kind of pressure. Not the kind of pressure he’s used to either. He debates with himself if sliding into Lynch’s DMs is too desperate, but he’s saved from this debate by Ronan Lynch. Sliding into Adam’s DMs.

Ronan: not everything I tweet is aimed at you Parrish

Adam decides to play dumb.

Adam: What tweet? I was just sharing my thoughts on questionable band names. Do you honestly have nothing better to do than to bother me on Twitter?

Ronan: On a tour bus in the middle of buttfuck nowhere?

Adam: Rock & Roll lifestyle not all it’s cracked up to be?

Ronan: Hookers got delayed in Chicago and Gansey said no more cocaine

Adam: I thought rehab said that

Ronan: Fuck did u google me? Asshole

Adam: Sorry, am I not allowed to google the guy who said mean things about me in a magazine? And then on the radio?

Ronan: Google tell you how mean I am to everyone?

Adam: Didn’t need google to tell me that

Ronan: Recognised your own personality traits in someone else?

Adam’s not surprised Ronan’s calling him out.

Adam: I was having a bad night

Ronan: No fucking way

The sarcasm is palpable in Ronan’s message. Adam definitely doesn’t want to talk about the Cabeswater party.

Adam: I googled you for pics of you shirtless. Found that Attitude shoot.

Adam doesn’t think too much about the flirting. The only people who know he’s anything other than straight are Blue and the friend of a friend who he’d once made out with at a house party when he was 18. And now Ronan Lynch, probably.

Ronan: Ur a dirty perv Parrish

Adam knows Ronan’s gay. Hell, the whole world knows Ronan’s gay. Last year he’d been asked repeatedly in interviews about a rumoured relationship with a supermodel and had finally snapped live on the radio. “Fuck off, I’m fucking gay,” is probably the most aggressive public coming out in history.

Adam: If only you knew

Somewhere, on a tour bus rumbling through buttfuck nowhere, Ronan Lynch is having an aneurysm.

*

*

“Why are you watching a video of Adam Parrish playing the hurdy gurdy?”

Gansey looks up at him, wide-eyed excitement on his face. “The hurdy gurdy, Ronan! It’s a seminal medieval instrument!”

“So? Why are you watching Parrish play it? Watch someone else.” Ronan knows he’s not being subtle, but this is Gansey. He doubts he’s going to read too much into Ronan’s annoyance.

“I was hoping he’d be able to teach me to play it…” Gansey muses. Ronan tunes him out. If he wants to nerd out about a crappy medieval instrument with Parrish, then he’s welcome to, just as long as they keep it far away from Ronan.

A moment later, there’s the sound of someone playing fucking Spanish guitar coming out of Gansey’s laptop. Ronan doesn’t have to move from his place on the tour bus sofa to know that it’s Adam Parrish playing the goddamn Spanish guitar. It’s fucking beautiful and it pisses Ronan off more than the damn hurdy gurdy. Just the thought of Adam’s elegant hands playing that sinfully beautiful music is enough to make Ronan grit his teeth in frustration.

The tour bus is rolling through the middle of nowhere in the Midwest. Ronan hasn’t seen anything other than cornfields in hours. He wonders if Gansey will be more annoyed if he throws himself or the laptop out of the window.

The music has changed again. It’s a Page of Cups live performance now. Cheng’s snoring in the bunks and Noah’s on Skype to his sister in the back, so the front of the bus is where Ronan has to be. Although he’d rather listen to Cheng’s obnoxious snoring than anymore over-stylised indie folk courtesy of Page of Cups.

“Why the fuck are you listening to them? They slagged us off in Pitchfork and Parrish is bullying me on Twitter, don’t give them YouTube hits!”

Gansey just gives him a withering look. He’s clearly been practicing it for times like this. “Parrish is bullying you on Twitter? Grow up, Ronan. First of all, cyber-bullying is a serious issue and you shouldn’t make jokes about it. Second of all, you’ve called Adam an asshole multiple times on live radio now. You should be more tolerant.”

Ronan thinks about telling him that Sargent can’t hear him brown-nosing from here. “Tolerant. Tell that to Parrish,” Ronan hisses instead. “Just because you’ve got a stupid crush on both of them doesn’t mean the rest of us should suffer.”

Gansey’s opening and closing his mouth like a blustering goldfish.

Ronan knows he’s projecting. Well, half-projecting. He grabs his big noise cancelling headphones instead of continuing whatever this conversation is. He means to put on something rhythmic and angry, but when he searches his phone for something to listen to, he ends up on Page of Cups’ Spotify page. There’s a photo of the two of them at the top of the page. Adam’s dressed again like he’s an extra in a period movie and he looks distant and dreamy, but also focussed and grounded, earthy. How one person can be all those things at once, Ronan doesn’t know. But Parrish so far has been a study in contradictions. They don’t have many songs on their page, a full length album, released earlier this year to, Ronan snorts, ‘critical acclaim,’ and a couple of EPs from the past couple of years.

Ronan hits play on the album, ‘Hands & Eyes.’ He's heard the lead single, ‘Blue Lily, Lily Blue,’ before, knows it’s all, as he said, weirdly layered synths and something that sounds like a banjo but apparently isn’t. It’s folky but in a gritty, electronic way. It’s maybe not discordant, as such, but definitely not what he’d listen to by choice.

There’s another song on the album though, the last track, the one Ronan heard almost by accident, played through the shitty speakers of Noah’s laptop. He can’t remember the title, but with the album track list in front of him, he wonders how he could’ve forgotten. It’s called “these hands and eyes are mine” and it’s just Parrish singing, just an acoustic guitar in the background. There’s a line that he sings, “ _I was here, I exist, I’m alive, because I bleed_.” When Ronan had first heard it, something had stirred in the back of his mind, something physical had shifted in his soul. Whatever he’d thought of Adam before he heard that, he couldn’t remember now. Asshole at the label party aside, there’s something about Adam Parrish.

It’s possible, Ronan muses, as the bus rumbles on through the eternal cornfields of Midwest America and he starts the second play through of their discography, that _maybe_ Page of Cups aren’t actually that bad.

*

When Blue comes into his hotel room, one evening, Adam reacts to her entry like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Maybe he has been. He’s listening to Nightwash.

“Why are you listening to _that band_?”

“I just—” Adam pauses before he starts to defend himself. The song has only just started, Blue couldn’t have heard more than the opening few notes. Which means— “How did you know it was Nightwash?”

“I listen to them sometimes. Their music fuels my hate fire.”

Adam tilts his head consideringly. Everything he’s heard so far has been definitely on the angry and hopeless side. It’s very Ronan Lynch. “I can see why it would do that, even if it wasn’t you know, them.”

“They’re not that bad,” Blue admits. Adam almost drops his laptop in alarm.

“What?”

“Gansey called me, the other day. He wanted to apologise about the label party. We had a good conversation actually. He’s really passionate about his music. He was really keen to talk about our album. I don’t know who it was I met at the label party.” If Blue were a cartoon character, Adam muses, she’d have hearts for eyes. It’s incredibly unlike her. “He also wanted to pass on my apologies to you, for Ronan.”

“Lynch is a big boy, if he wanted to apologise to me, he’d have done it himself.”

“Gansey says he’s been going through a difficult time.”

“Oh well, if _Gansey_ says.” Adam doesn’t point out that he’s gone through more than his fair share of difficult times without being nasty to everyone he meets. Blue already knows.

“Don’t be like that. He cares a lot about Lynch, for some reason. Just like I care about you and your self-destructive behaviour.”

“Nothing about my behaviour has ever been self-destructive.”

“Why do you think I’m so worried about you now? Anyway, have you got a spare capo?”

Adam huffs. There is nothing self-destructive about listening to somebody’s music just so you’ve got more ammunition for the weird taunting/flirting you’ve been doing with them on Twitter.

“There’s one in my bag. What do you need it for?”

“I left mine in the van.”

“Not what I asked.”

Blue shrugs at him. “Just need it.” She rummages through his bag for the capo. When she emerges triumphant, she disappears back to her own room. Adam knows there’s something more she’s not telling him. He trusts her though, trusts her above everyone else and she’ll tell him what’s going on eventually.

Adam goes back to listening to Nightwash. He can’t actually think of anything to use as ammunition. The more he listens to Nightwash, the more he has to admit that there’s something he kind of likes about their music. Lynch’s lead guitar is melodic and on some tracks there’s a longing and a sadness about his playing that gives Adam goosebumps. Once Adam starts paying attention to the lyrics as well, he realises how painfully earnest they are. Songs that on the first listen appear to be about one thing, but by the third listen are clearly about something entirely different and far more meaningful.

It's one of these songs that gives Adam the most pause. The first time he listens the bouncy, catchy riff, he thinks how much fun it would be to be in a crowd while this song plays live; how involved in it the audience must get. It’s a song written with so much energy, it was only ever meant to be played live. But by the third play, he realises how sad and lonely the lyrics. Lyrics about hating the person everyone wants you to be, smiling blankly because people expect you to be happy.

“Never trust a happy song,” Adam mutters to himself. It’s damn catchy though and he spends the rest of the evening and most of the next day with that damn riff playing over and over in his head.

*

It’s an offhand comment he makes in a radio interview. He’s not even sure how he ended up in it, their PR manager swore he’d never let him go live on radio ever again after the “fuck off, I’m fucking gay,” fiasco and now he’s back in a booth for the second time in as many weeks. The interviewer makes a joke about their rivalry with Page of Cups and Ronan says “Fucking shit that passes for music these days. It’s not rock and roll. Parrish can’t even shred,” before his brain has caught up.

It's an offhand comment that comes back to bite him in the ass that evening. He’s got a Twitter notification, and he’d managed to figure out his settings enough to know that Twitter notifications only mean one thing now. And sure enough.

Adam’s posted a video. There’s no caption other than “@fakeronanlynch.” In the video, Parrish is sat in what’s clearly the back of a very cramped campervan. He’s got a sky blue Fender Stratocaster across his lap and at the start of the video he’s laughing at something Sargent says off-screen. And then, without any preamble, he fucking shreds.

Ronan’s brain short circuits. His mouth goes completely dry and he doesn’t even pay attention to the song Parrish is playing, too distracted by Parrish’s focus and his fucking _hands._ His long fingers slide fast and perfect up and down the frets. The look on his face is so _intense_ that Ronan can’t think of anything other than sex. The last note warbles out of Parrish’s guitar far too soon for Ronan’s liking, but then Parrish looks right at the camera, smirks smugly, and says, “Your move, Lynch.”

Ronan watches the video at least six more times. He hopes for the sake of his pride that Adam hasn’t got some way of seeing how many times he’s watched the video. Once he’s recovered though, he begins to formulate his response.

*

“He’s playing a _bouzouki._ ” Adam knows he sounds strangled. He feels strangled. “Why is he playing a bouzouki? Who even owns a bouzouki? Do you think he bought a bouzouki to, like, get back at me? Is that better or worse than already owning one?”

Blue is too focussed on driving the shitbox to comment right away. She’s leaning forward in the seat like it will give her a better view. Adam can tell she’s nervous, even though they’re completely alone on the highway. The worst thing she can hit is a cactus. Their new management company have told them they’re getting a proper tour bus and a professional driver for their real tour. Adam can’t wait to feel like he’s not taking his life in his hands every time he gets in the van with Blue at the wheel.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“You drove all day yesterday. It’s not fair if you do all the driving.”

“I’m not bothered about fairness if it means we don’t die in a fiery wreck.”

“P’shaw,” Blue says, but she sits up straighter and drives a little more confidently. Adam sighs in relief.

“Anyway, Lynch?”

“The more pressing issue,” Blue says, sarcastically. “His dad was some famous Irish rock star. He probably owned all sorts of weird instruments. He’s definitely doing it to get back at you though. Did he say anything with the video?”

“The caption is ‘any idiot can shred on an electric guitar’ and then he’s tagged me.”

“What are you gonna do?” Blue doesn’t really sound like she cares. She’s well over the Page of Cups vs Nightwash rivalry and thinks Adam should be over it too. Adam almost wants to remind her of what Gansey said at the label party, get her back on his side. He suspects, however, that Gansey is the person she’s been calling at weird times of the night. The days of Blue being on his side are long gone.

At least Gansey’s not on Lynch’s side anymore though. He called Adam the other day and they had a great chat about medieval instruments in modern music. He’s never had a problem with Henry or Noah either. It’s something he’s been aware of for a while now, that whatever this _thing_ is, it’s just between him and Lynch now. It probably always has been. Still, he’s not giving it up.

“I don’t know. I think buying an electric ukulele for the sake of one-upping Ronan Lynch is taking it a bit far.”

“Maybe you should just send him a picture of your dick and be done with it.”

Adam glares at her. “That’s not very feminist of you.”

She tips her head, acknowledging what he’s said, but then, “It would solve the problem though. ‘Hey Lynch, do you want this or not?’”

“Please stop talking about my dick.”

“I bet he can’t play the theremin,” Blue suggests. She’s still on his side then.

*

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish weird indie-folk not working out for you then?

Adam uploaded his theremin video eight minutes ago. He wonders if Lynch has got notifications for when Adam posts. He’s got notifications for Ronan turned on, but that’s just so Lynch doesn’t think he’s got one up on Adam.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch ????

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish X-files theme music, thought that was your new gig

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch Apparently Twitter beef with you is my new gig

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch Thanks for the free press btw

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish No problem. I expect royalties from your boosted album sales

Adam thinks about making some joke about finding some other way to pay him, but he thinks maybe that’s too obvious. Plus, he’s supposed to be on stage three minutes ago.

*

It’s that boring lull between when they finish soundcheck and before they have to get ready to go on stage and Ronan is pacing the green room. He’s spinning his phone around in his fingers and every time he drops it, he swears.

“Is somebody feeling a little sexually frustrated?” Henry’s reclining on the worn out leather sofa against one wall.

“Fuck off, Cheng. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s been interesting, being able to observe the Ronan Lynch mating ritual from this close. I think I should make a documentary.”

“I am not trying to _mate_ with him.” He’s really not. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with Parrish. The fact that he hasn’t messaged him back today has nothing to do with how on edge Ronan’s feeling.

“Are you not? What’s all the tweeting and the flirting and the checking your phone every five minutes about then? Or did you not realise other people could see you?”

“Do we really have to have this conversation?” Ronan doesn’t like the thought of Henry _observing_ his interactions with Parrish. He’s also having trouble trying to get the idea of sex with Adam Parrish out of his head. _Thanks, Cheng._

“I’m just pleased you’ve got a new hobby.” Cheng winks at him and then Noah bursts through the door, already talking about his new idea for some call and response drum line he wants to try.

When Ronan’s phone buzzes and he swipes it up instantly, Cheng just raises an eyebrow.

*

“I swear to God, if you mention Ronan fucking Lynch one more time, then I’m kicking you out of the band.”

Adam hasn’t even opened his mouth yet this morning. “I was going to ask where you wanted to get breakfast. But if you’re going to be like that…”

“You were not, your phone is open on his Instagram page.” Her stomach rumbles, interrupting her tirade.

“There’s an IHOP?” Adam says. He gestures over the road from the motel they spent the night in. Adam slept terribly, the mattress in his room actually made him miss the saggy, broken excuse for a bed he slept on at St Agnes. Middle America has got a lot to answer for.

“You still wouldn’t kick me out of the band over it. It would hurt album sales.” After he’s said it, Adam considers whether that would actually be true. They’re travelling around at the moment, playing on local radio stations, and having the same interview over and over. Maybe Blue kicking him out the band would give the interviewers something new to talk about, or at least make them more memorable.

“I might if you don’t hurry up and fuck him and get this out of your system.”

Adam doesn’t want to fuck Ronan Lynch. He says as much to Blue.

“I don’t want to fuck him, he’s a belligerent asshole.” A woman entering the motel glares at him as he and Blue pass her out the door. Adam smiles politely at her.

“I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. Since when was that not _exactly_ your type?” She follows him into the IHOP and they sit at a booth.

Adam doesn’t reply to that. Blue makes a fair point. He doesn’t want to have sex with Lynch though, he wants to… Adam doesn’t actually know what he wants with Lynch. Wants to stay out of his way. Wants to prove that he can do everything Lynch can, but better, because he wasn’t raised a punk rock prince. Wants to shut him up, make him stop running his mouth and—Adam shuts down that train of thought. He’s in a _restaurant._

Blue rolls her eyes and huffs dramatically. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem.”

“Why are you on his Instagram then?”

“I’m trying to figure out why he hasn’t done anything.”

“You’ve got a serious problem, Adam.”

“He followed me three days ago. And he hasn’t done anything since.”

“Shockingly, maybe he’s not as obsessed with you as you are with him.”

“That’s definitely not true.” If Adam’s obsessed with Lynch, then Lynch is obsessed with him.

“I doubt he even uses his own Instagram; it was probably an intern. Or maybe, he’s waiting for you to follow him back.” Blue’s indulging him.

“Maybe.” He pauses while the waitress takes their orders. “I can stop this any time you know.”

“I know, you’ve not got a problem.” She rolls her eyes. “So why don’t you?”

“Because then he’d win!”

“Win? Is anyone ever going to be a winner? The longer this goes on, the more you both looks like losers.”

Adam frowns at her. Instead of replying though, he opens Twitter. Direct tactics are going to be the most fruitful.

Adam: Why did you follow me on Instagram?

Ronan replies quickly, considering it’s 9am.

Ronan: What’s instagram?

Adam: Fucker

Ronan: Didn’t want to miss any of that hideously dull Page of Cups content

Adam: Knew you were obsessed

Ronan: Obsessed with how much hipster mediocrity two people can achieve. Can’t look away, it’s like a car crash

Adam: Ouch

Adam’s pancakes have arrived. Blue gives him a pointed look when he doesn’t put his phone down to start eating.

Adam: At least I know more than four chords

Ronan: Don’t be mean about Gansey like that, he tries his best

Adam: I listened to your new album the other day

Ronan: What an honour

Adam: It wasn’t shit

Ronan: I’ll get that printed on the sleeve

Adam snorts at that.

“What?” Blue says. She’s been grinning at her own phone. Adam’s been meaning to ask who she’s always texting,

“Nothing.” _Direct tactics._ “Who are you texting?”

“No one,” she says.

“Gansey?” Adam asks.

Blue actually looks embarrassed, which is such a rare look for her that Adam wants to take a picture. He doesn’t though.

“Remember when we were 14 and we thought that we should date because you were a boy, and I was a girl?”

Adam wonders where she’s going with this. “And every time I tried to kiss you, you laughed in my face? How could I forget.”

“It was awkward, you’re like my brother.”

“I sure hope you’re going somewhere good with this.”

“I thought it was a good idea, that we dated because we were friends. And it wasn’t, really.”

“No, I think we just argued more actually.” Adam holds his hands out across the table to her, waiting for her to get to the point.

“Well, when I talk to Gansey it’s like… we’re friends, but also I want to…” She trails off.

“Carnal knowledge him?” Adam grins. Blue hides her face in her hands, so Adam steals a blueberry off her plate. “Have you even seen him since the label party?”

“No, but we talk a lot.” Blue doesn’t look embarrassed anymore, when she removes her face from her hands, but she does look weirdly uncomfortable still.

“It’s fine, I approve. Gansey’s great.” He waves his fork at her.

“I don’t need your approval. I know you like Gansey, you finally have someone to talk about the fucking hurdy gurdy with.”

“Don’t rag on the hurdy gurdy! You know it sounds good.”

“Pretentious,” Blue sings.

“Oh you wanna talk pretention, Blue ‘I could buy a new guitar with better sound quality but I won’t because I like the aesthetic of my Mom’s old, broken one’ Sargent?”

The rest of the meal descends into bickering, and it’s so like them, teasing each other like siblings. It puts them both in such a good mood that when the email comes asking them both to attend a PR meeting at the Cabeswater New York office, Adam doesn’t consider that it could be anything serious.

*

“We’re going to have to do a little bit of damage control,” the Cabeswater PR manager is saying. Her name is Nancy, and she knows far more about Adam than he would like. She doesn’t work with them very often; she does PR for the whole label. Mr Gray does most of the management for Page of Cups. He says it’s his easiest job so far because Adam comes to meetings so overly prepared.

Adam is not prepared for this meeting. Nancy’s got platinum blonde hair cut in a sharp bob and she’s drumming her long red nails intimidatingly on the table between them. He knows she’s very good at her job, but it doesn’t stop him disliking everything she says. “Damage control?” he asks.

“Yes, Mr Parrish,” Nancy says sharply. “Your public “banter”—” she doesn’t do the air quotes, but Adam hears them anyway. “with Mr Lynch is causing some negative press for the label.”

“I thought all press was good press,” Blue snaps back, just as sharply. Adam’s glad she’s there. Last time he’d been in a meeting with Nancy, it was just him, Nancy, and a team of serious looking lawyers. This time it’s Blue and Adam on one side of the table, Nancy, and an intern, on the other. The intern has the bewildered and yet slightly bored expression of someone who is rapidly learning that working for a record label isn’t as exciting as it sounds.

Nancy’s clearly trying to remain professional and not roll her eyes, but Adam can tell she wants to. He recognises that look. He feels like a child being told off at school, a feeling he hates. Nancy has the power here and she knows it.

“Would you care to take a look at some of these articles, Miss Sargent, and tell me if you think they’re the kind of articles you’d like to have circulating about your band?” Nancy slides a tablet across the table to Blue.

“Would you be able to summarise for us?” Adam keeps his professional head on, in spite of himself. He’s an adult and he’s a professional, and he has power here too. He knows that if they don’t get to the crux of the problem quickly, this meeting could run on into further meetings.

“I’m sure you can imagine how it looks from an outside perspective. You’re a new signing to the label, something a little different to the other artists on our books, and there’s been this instant clash between yourselves and Nightwash. There have been accusations of bullying.”

“I don’t see how that’s our problem,” Blue says, looking up from the tablet. “I hope you’re having this conversation with Nightwash.”

“It’s your problem, Miss Sargent, because Mr Parrish has been exacerbating the situation. It won’t gain you any fans if half of your band is being antagonistic on Twitter.”

“Are you saying he’s being an asshole? Because he can’t help it,” Blue says. Adam kicks her under the table. He’s a professional, so it’s a subtle kick.

“What kind of damage control are you thinking?” Adam’s not sure he likes where this is going. If they tell him his stupid tweets to Ronan Lynch are going to cost them the tour, then he’ll throw his phone in the river. Well, he won’t _throw it in the river,_ but he’ll use it much less. Delete Twitter at least.

“Nightwash are playing a show in DC on Friday night. You’re both going to go, you’re both going to tweet about how you enjoyed the show and you’re going to go out with them after. You’re friends, you’ve been friends with them since you were teenagers in Henrietta and the tweets are just an expression of that.”

Blue groans loudly and dramatically rolls her head around on her shoulders. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants, could you?” she says to Adam.

Nancy coughs pointedly. The intern giggles. Adam’s still trying to be professional, so he doesn’t acknowledge Blue, just smiles politely at Nancy. Nancy’s making a face like she’s been told something she’d rather not have heard, pursing her lips disapprovingly.

“I’m going to be calling Nightwash later to inform them of this too. They will also be going to the Clairvoyant Tour kick off show in Henrietta,” Nancy says. She shuffles some more of her papers around. Adam’s sure there’s nothing important on them; she’s just brought them for dramatic effect.

“It’s never been out of my pants,” he hisses to Blue on the way out of the meeting room.

“Well, looks like you’ve got a perfect opportunity to try now, don’t you?”

“Hypocrite,” he replies. If looks could kill, Adam would have dropped dead from Blue’s glare. He follows her into the elevator.

“Some of us manage to keep our relationships off of Twitter,” she snaps.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You should be glad you get to spend more time with _Gansey._ I’m the one that should be pissed off.”

“Why? Because you’ve finally got to face the consequences of your actions? Sometimes I think you forget we’re in this together.”

_Don’t fight with Blue._ “I’m—”

“Don’t apologise if you don’t mean it Adam. I just want you to consider that maybe I don’t want my relationship, not that it’s a relationship yet, turned into a PR stunt.”

The elevator arrives at the ground floor but neither of them leave. Adam hates it when she’s right. “I’m an asshole,” he says.

“Well done. Anything else?” She’s got her arms folded over her chest, eyebrows raised expectantly. Fighting stance still.

“Yeah, I’ll fix it. In DC, I’ll talk to Lynch and it won’t happen anymore. We’ll do what the PR team want, and I’ll support you in keeping your relationship with Gansey private. Not that it’s a relationship,” he adds, with a grin.

Blue grins back and kicks him gently on the shin. “Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought! I really appreciate comments and kudos! <333
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [behindtheatlantic](https://behindtheatlantic.tumblr.com)! Once again, thanks for reading!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that Ronan forgets that Adam Parrish exists in the real world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who’s left a comment or kudos so far! I started writing this chapter so long ago, it feels like it’s been in my head forever. Part of it was actually one of the first full scenes I wrote for this fic and I’ve written and rewritten it so much that it actually feels weird to say “there we go, it’s done.” I’ve been back and changed a lot of it, and added bits, because it was important to me that it happened, but I wanted it to feel natural, and in character.  
> This chapter is serious, and also silly, in about equal measure. I’ve enjoyed writing both the serious and the silly, and I hope you enjoy reading it. Here you go, it’s done!
> 
> (In terms of content warning for this chapter, there is some discussion of death (minor, canonical) but if you want to skip that part, I've put a little ~ in the text at the beginning and end of the section that covers it.)

It’s not that Ronan forgets that Parrish exists in the real world. He’s just separated the Adam Parrish who he messages on Twitter from the Adam Parrish he’d argued with at the label party. In his head they’re separate people. So when he sees Adam Parrish standing there off to the side of the stage looking casually disdainful, he only sees the second Adam.

Sargent is with him, which clues him in to the fact that Gansey definitely knew about this. After the opening song, Ronan strolls as casually as he can to the dead mic at the back of the stage. Adam’s watching him the whole time.

Noah’s watching him too from behind his kit, and when Ronan mutters “Dick, why’d you invite Henrietta’s shittiest band?” Noah laughs gleefully. On his way back to the front of the stage, he looks at Adam again. Adam raises an eyebrow and fucking smirks filthily at him, and _there’s_ the Adam from Twitter.

Gansey just gives him a _look_ and says into his own microphone, “Dead mic’s not a toy, Lynch,” before counting them into the next song.

And this is _everything._ Ronan loves his guitar. It’s a Fender custom job, limited edition, the Ronan Lynch X Fender Chainsaw. It was a limited production run and Ronan’s got the first one they’d made, #001 engraved on the back of the neck. The art on it was done by the same artist who’d designed his back tattoo and when Ronan holds it, it feels he’s holding a part of himself. It almost makes him forget that Adam Parrish is watching. Almost, but not quite.

He doesn’t want to play it up, doesn’t want to do anything extra that’ll make Adam think he’s trying to impress him. But in the end, his guitar is a missing limb, and this is where he belongs. Performing gives him a rush that nothing else comes close to matching, not sex, not drugs, not even street racing. The music fills all the places inside of him where he feels empty the rest of the time. The feedback from the crowd, Henry’s bass, Noah’s drums, Gansey’s guitar and vocals, all of it reverberates inside him and pushes back out of him through his fingers. It’s a euphoric feedback loop and Ronan never, ever wants it to end. Feeling Parrish’s eyes on him the whole time ramps the feeling up to eleven.

There’s probably some nefarious reason that Parrish is here, PR’s idea probably, but that doesn’t mean Ronan can’t use that to his advantage. Gansey’s talking to the crowd and so Ronan grabs a bottle of water from the side of the stage Parrish and Sargent are watching from. He swings his guitar round to his back and when he takes a swig, he does it sloppily so that rivulets of cold water run down his neck and soak into his shirt. He can see Adam follow them with his eyes, and then keep going, his gaze sliding down Ronan’s body.

“Eyes up, Parrish,” he calls to him. He’s not sure if Adam heard, Noah’s drumming the intro to the next song, but then he fucking _winks._

There’s a break, between the main set and the encore and Ronan grabs Gansey by the arm as they leave the stage.

“You were in the meeting,” he says to Ronan before Ronan can say anything though. “Remember? Declan, and Nancy from PR called?”

“Yeah, I didn’t listen to that.” He’d either been messaging Parrish or thinking about messaging Parrish.

“You said you were!” They’ve only got a minute, the crowd’s screaming for them and Noah’s practically floating off the ground with how much he’s vibrating. “Page of Cups are here. We’re going to their Henrietta show next week. It’s damage control because you and Adam can’t play nice. Come on.”

Ronan follows Gansey back onto the stage to the ascending screams of the crowd. He plays hard, pours everything he’s got left into the music. Doesn’t think about what Gansey said, or about how he apparently can’t _play nice_ with Parrish. Ronan doesn’t want to _play nice_ with him, he wants to— Well, he doesn’t want to think about what the end of that sentence is. He wants to play his music.

But then, when they exit the stage after the encore, the reality of the fact that _actual Adam Parrish_ is right there, hits Ronan hard, low in his gut. Suddenly he’s not just a hot guy who has some weird rivalry going with Ronan. One where they say mean things about each other in interviews and tease each other on Twitter in some weird ritual of obnoxious flirting and videos of obscure musical instruments. Ronan had forgotten how Adam’s cheekbones and hands are even more devastatingly attractive in real life, a thousand times more so than in even the highest quality video.

He doesn’t do what he really wants to do, which is to press Adam back into a dark corner and do dirty things to him. A large part of him _really_ wants to do that. Instead, he sneers at him and says “Parrish. Come to see what a real band sounds like?”

Adam’s eyebrows shoot up and his eyes widen in fake surprise and he looks over Ronan’s shoulder and says “Oh, is one playing? I thought it was just you guys.” He’s such a shit. Ronan hates him. Ronan wants him.

Ronan doesn’t normally strip his shirt off until he’s in the dressing room backstage. But tonight, after he’s passed his guitar off to a waiting tech, he looks right at Adam and peels his sweaty, wet muscle tee off. Adam’s standing so close to him and he raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. Ronan grins wickedly at Parrish and walks away from him, following the rest of his band back to the dressing rooms.

*

Adam is so incredibly fucked. He’s seen videos of Nightwash, of Lynch playing guitar, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of it.

Prior to arriving at the venue, Adam had given himself a talking to, told himself that no matter what happens, he’s talking to Lynch and telling him that whatever’s going on between them needs to stop. He can stop antagonising Lynch and be friends with him. But then he sees Ronan, and every thought falls out of his head.

He doesn’t get a chance to speak to Lynch before the show, isn’t actually even sure Lynch knows he’s here. That’s confirmed when Nightwash finish their opener and Ronan swings towards where Adam and Blue are watching from the wings and he does a half-aborted double take. Ronan walks back to the dead mic set up at the back of the stage.

Adam barely catches what he says but he’s got good at lip reading the last few years and Ronan definitely says something about “Henrietta’s shittiest band.”

There’s no way Adam’s letting him get away with that, public relations be damned. He smirks and raises an eyebrow at Lynch next time he looks at Adam. Ronan looks at him darkly in return.

The Nightwash set hurtles on though, and Adam tries to pay attention to the whole band, rather than just Lynch, but it’s a difficult feat. Ronan plays guitar like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. Adam feels every note reverberate through him, and the venue might as well be completely empty for all the attention Adam pays to anyone else in it. Ronan’s so in control, of the music, of the crowd, of the entire atmosphere. He’s god of this tiny world and the crowd is an ocean, surging at his whims. Adam doesn’t think he’s ever been made to feel this way before. He wants to be caught in the storm of Ronan’s creation. He wonders if everyone else here feels the same way.

His mind wanders, but still orbits around Ronan, unable to escape the gravity he’s created. Adam wants to know if he’s this intense during sex. He wonders what it’d be like, to have all that intensity focused on him alone. Adam wants to match that intensity, wants to take control of it. He wonders if Ronan would push back, challenge. _Fuck,_ Adam wants. He watches Ronan’s masterful guitar playing and thinks about how he wants to wreck him, wants to see him lose that control. Wants to be the one to cause it.

Ronan comes off stage and he maintains hard eye contact with Adam as he peels off his sweaty shirt. Adam’s treated to hard, glistening planes of Ronan’s chest slowly revealed to him. He has to dig his nails into the palm of his hand and force himself to return the eye contact instead of doing what he really wants to do. He raises his eyebrows at Lynch, hopes he looks unimpressed instead of incredibly turned on.

Lynch gives him a dirty grin, like he can read Adam’s mind and then swaggers away. Adam watches him as he goes, watches his incredible tattoo shining with sweat. Adam’s eyes follow the stark lines of it to where they disappear beneath the waist of Lynch’s jeans, and his eyes catch on the dimples at the base of Ronan’s spine. Adam’s mouth goes dry and he thinks of how perfect it’s going to be, pressing his thumbs into those dimples.

*

Later, in the VIP area of some fancy DC nightclub, Ronan once again finds himself staring sadly at a bottle of non-alcoholic beer. The euphoria of the show has long since worn off. The high had been big tonight and so, as it goes, the drop feels further. Is further. And non-alcoholic beer is always shit.

It's almost déjà vu when Parrish slides into the booth opposite him. He’d been with Gansey and Sargent, doing shots no doubt. He’s got a tall glass in his hand now, bright orange liquid inside it. He doesn’t look disdainful, like he had at the label party though. Instead, he looks calm and casually confident. Still so beautiful Ronan wants to put his fist through a wall, but that’s no surprise. Ronan wait for the sarcastic comment, but it doesn’t come. Parrish just gives Ronan a crooked smile and sips at his drink.

“What you drinking?” Ronan asks, for lack of anything better. He might not be able to make his own alcohol choices, but that doesn’t mean he can’t still judge other people’s.

“I believe they call it a virgin screwdriver,” Parrish says, dryly, looking thoughtfully at his glass.

Ronan snorts. “Drinking orange juice in a nightclub is definitely not rock & roll, if you’re asking.”

Adam just smirks. “And here I thought being teetotal was punk.”

“I didn’t know you were,” Ronan says, stupidly. Adam doesn’t drink, he realises, with a weird twist in his stomach. Ronan’s memories of him at the label party shift.

“Punk? Incredibly.” Adam laughs, warm and musical. He then leans down and sucks at the straw in his juice. The motion makes his cheekbones even more prominent, and the lights of the club are casting the shadows of his eyelashes down his face. Ronan bites the inside of his cheek and tries to think of anything other than what Parrish would look like sucking his cock.

“Do you wish you drank?” Ronan doesn’t know why he asks. Better than, _do you want to fuck,_ he supposes. Not a question he would normally ask anyone in he barely knows, but one that keeps pushing its way into his head when he speaks to Adam. Although, the longer he spends in this club, the less in the mood for that he feels.

“If I wished that, then I would. Don’t need alcohol to have fun,” Adam says, deadpan.

“Are you having fun?”

Adam raises an eyebrow at him. _No,_ his expression says.

“Hey, I’m tonnes of fucking fun.”

Adam just gives him another look. Ronan gives him one back that says, _why are you here then?_

“Having your sober bandmate hanging around while you’re trying to get with someone is kind of buzzkill.”

“Who’s trying to hook up?”

“Oh, you don’t know about Blue and Gansey?”

“That slick motherfucker.”

Adam chokes on his orange juice. “I assumed he’d have told you. I guess not,” Adam says when he recovers. “Besides, you looked lonely. Thought I’d keep you company.” he adds.

“Are you hitting on me, Parrish?”

“You wish.”

He doesn’t. Not right now. Ronan feels nauseous. He wants to be able to flirt with Adam, wants to be himself, be normal, but he can’t the whole time he’s here in this club. This is the part of his job he’s growing to hate more and more, his required presence at all these events centred around drinking.

Ronan peels the label off of the beer bottle. He hates nightclubs, hates non-alcoholic beer, he hates pretty boys with sharp wits and musical laughs and most of all he hates himself for becoming this person. Hates that he can’t do anything he used to enjoy anymore without feeling that terrible itch underneath his skin. Hates that the part that wants it can shout louder than the rest of him that doesn’t. Hates that it’s been so long now, and it’s not got any easier.

Adam’s clearly picked up on Ronan’s bad mood and has stopped trying to engage with him. He’s staring vacantly over the side of the balcony, looking for Sargent, possibly, or else just wondering how the fuck he ended up here like Ronan is. There’s no point them staying here, it’s not going to help the media perception of their bands if anyone notices the two of them sitting miserably in a booth. It’ll be better if they leave, Ronan decides, let Sargent and Gansey deal with the PR.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks Parrish. He’s eager to leave, before he does anything stupid or peels his own skin off trying to stop himself doing the stupid thing.

“Where?” Adam asks. He looks cautiously optimistic at the idea of leaving.

“Drive?”

Adam tilts his head, looks at him consideringly for a moment, then nods. Ronan really wants to know what he’s thinking.

Ronan snags his security guy on the way out of the VIP area. “Just going for a drive,” he tells Jesse, showing him his car keys. “Tell Gansey that Parrish is with me.”

Parrish is texting someone as they walk out the back entrance of the club. Sargent probably. “Letting her know where you are in case I murder you?” he asks Adam.

Adam smirks. “Or in case I need help burying a body.”

The BMW is parked in the next street over. There’s a crushed-up packet of cigarettes on the seat and Ronan throws it into the back before Adam gets in.

It’s only when Adam is actually sat in the passenger seat of his car that he realises he has no fucking clue what the hell he’s doing. He starts the engine. Figuring it out as he goes is Ronan’s style. Adam doesn’t say anything for a long while as Ronan drives aimlessly through downtown DC. There aren’t many other cars on the roads, but then, it’s gone midnight.

“Music?” Adam asks.

“Fucking obviously.” He’s feeling like Ronan Lynch again. All his anxieties that had seemed so huge in the nightclub are cowering away from the cool glow of the BMW console.

Adam fiddles about with the car stereo and soft acoustic guitar comes through the speakers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ronan snaps but Adam doesn’t look perturbed.

“Educating you,” he says, smiling mildly.

“Fas est ab hoste doceri,” Ronan murmurs.

“Fuck, is that Ovid?” Adam sounds blindsided.

Ronan laughs. He can see Adam out of the corner of his eye, creating a Spotify queue on his phone, and whatever he’s putting on it, he seems to be considering carefully.

“What the fuck is this?” Ronan gestures at the radio.

“It’s Bon Iver you uncultured fuck.”

“No wonder you’re such a miserable shit if this is what you listen to. Play me something sexy, Parrish.”

Adam laughs, that warm, musical laugh again. “What?”

“Come on, what music does Adam Parrish fuck to?” Apparently, his mouth has gone rogue. Ronan doesn’t backtrack though. This might as well happen.

“Jesus, Lynch.”

Adam flicks around on his phone again, and then---

“Arctic Monkeys? Did you google sexy songs or something?”

Adam just watches him, raises an eyebrow. _When you look at me like that my darling, what did you expect?_

It’s actually an unreasonably sexy song and sat alone in a dark car with Adam Parrish just makes it even more so. Ronan feels unreasonably aroused. He tries to think of something to diffuse the tension.

“What does Ronan Lynch fuck to then?” Adam asks him. No chance of diffusion yet then. Ronan can see his dark eyes assessing him in his peripheral. He wants to pull the car over, wants to do more than just play sexy songs, he wants to live in them.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I think I would.”

_Jesus, fuck._

Ronan pulls the car over. He cannot keep driving when he feels like this, it seems like the quickest way to wrap the car around a lamp post. He stops in a side street near a park. “Give me that,” he says as he takes the phone out of Adam’s hand. He queues up a bunch of songs, none of them sexy, and then shuffles them about on the queued track list, mixing them with Adam’s. He doesn’t look at what he’s putting where, it’s incidental.

“Oh, you’re gonna educate me now?” Adam’s grinning at him. He’s turned himself so he’s sat almost sideways, legs twisted weirdly and the left side of his head against the headrest. It looks uncomfortable, but Ronan doesn’t comment.

“Yeah, if all you listen to is indie trash and boring acoustic, you need it.” He’s shuffled the queue about so much now though, he’s got no idea what’s going to play next. When The Doors start playing, Ronan glares at the phone like it’s betrayed him.

Adam grins wider. “The Doors? You’re gonna play me The Doors like I’ve never listened to them before? What’s next, Metallica? You look like you listen to Metallica.”

“Fuck off, you look like you died tragically on the Titanic.”

Adam actually throws his head back laughing at that one. Ronan is unreasonably pleased with himself.

“It’s called an aesthetic, Lynch.”

“Exactly. This is an aesthetic.” It’s not. Ronan’s never made a conscious decision about what clothes he wears other than _if it’s not black, I don’t want to wear it._ Well, black or very dark grey. Sometimes he’ll wear a white tank, but only if it’s thin enough that his tattoo is visible through it.

Adam snorts, half a laugh, half derision. “Bold choice. Can’t knock your commitment.” He’s looking at Ronan, and Ronan doesn’t know what to make of his analytical gaze. “The difference is though, I don’t dress like this all the time.”

“So, this is how Adam Parrish the Brand dresses? Can’t say I’m a fan of that shirt.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna take it off, if that’s what you’re angling for here.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Ronan doesn’t think too much about the flirting. It’s almost second nature now, but he doesn’t know where it’ll go, if it will go anywhere at all.

Adam laughs again at that, and Ronan can’t figure out if the laugh means Adam doesn’t think Ronan was being serious, or that he does.

He doesn’t say anything else though. Neither of them speaks again for a little while, just occasionally complimenting or mocking the songs that come over the speakers.

“What’s your favourite song to play live?” Adam asks.

“Sorry, didn’t realise this was an interview. I’d have worn my fuck off face.”

“Jeez, I pity anyone who actually has to interview you. Answer the damn question.”

“Probably ‘ _3am’_. It was the last single and the crowd’s always got so much energy during it.” Fuck he sounds like Gansey. _Interview_ Gansey.

“Is that the one with the –?” Adam claps four times, quickly. When Ronan nods, Adam continues. “I like the riff on that one. Bouncy. ‘ _No Good’_ sounds awesome live.”

“They all sound awesome live. That’s the point, they’re songs that were _meant_ to be played live. Not playing them live is like having a sports car and never driving it faster than 80.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Of course _you’d_ think that. All your songs are sports cars. Not a bicycle among them.”

“Fuck writing bicycles. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Music isn’t always about who can shout the loudest.”

“You’re just saying that because I can shout louder.”

Adam looks at him incredulously and for a thrilling second Ronan thinks he’s actually about to challenge him to prove it. He doesn’t though, just shakes his head and grins at Ronan.

The song playing on the radio changes. It’s a Page of Cups cover of a Killers song. Adam frowns at the radio. “Did you queue this?”

“Yeah, so? I like it.”

“Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, Lynch.”

“I’m easy to figure out.”

“I think that’s what you want people to think.” Adam’s looking at him steadily, daring Ronan to contradict him. He doesn’t. Maybe Adam’s fired blindly or maybe he can see more than Ronan thinks, but either way he’s hit the target. Instead of contradicting him, Ronan changes the subject. He’s thinking about bicycles still, about the heart-wrenchingly beautiful bicycles Adam writes.

“The last track, on Hands & Eyes. What’s it about?”

Adam doesn’t answer right away. A car drives past them. It’s a stark reminder that this conversation isn’t happening in one of Ronan’s dreams, or on another plain of existence. Adam follows the car with his eyes before he answers. “Autonomy,” is all he says, and he says it so quietly that Ronan almost misses it. And then, louder, “I think maybe, you and I have very different reasons for making music.”

“You think so? I’m not so sure,” Ronan tells him. 

Adam tipped his head consideringly. Ronan can hear the cogs turning in his mind.

“How long have you been sober?” Adam asks, into the quiet. Ask a personal question, get a personal question, is apparently the game they’re playing.

“Seven months and nine days.” It’s an instant answer, the fact forever at the front of his mind. He’s well past six months now, but it feels like it’s been both ten years, and two days, simultaneously.

Adam nods. “Tour must be hard.”

“It is, but, it’s so worth it. I couldn’t do anything else.” Ronan looks at his hands. He picks absently at a callus on the tip of his middle finger. He can feel Adam watching him do it.

“Watching you tonight… I can’t imagine you doing anything else.”

“Calm down Parrish, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Write it down. Time and date.”

Ronan huffs a laugh. There’s something about Adam and something about the feeling of driving through a quiet, anonymous city and sitting in the half-dark in a parked car, with him that makes Ronan want to talk in a way that he hasn’t wanted to talk to anyone before. ~

“It’s fucked up,” Ronan says. “I sometimes think, if I hadn’t had the band, when my Dad died, then it could’ve been so much worse, what would I have had instead? But also, if I hadn’t had the band, would I have been in the position to get access to all the shit I got fucked up on?”

“Is that really worth thinking about? You can’t change it.”

“Catch-22.”

Adam screws up his nose. “That’s not a Catch-22. Catch-22 would be if you needed to be drunk to keep making music, but your label, or whoever, told you that you had to be sober.”

“Fuck off, nerd.”

“I take it that’s not the reason.” Adam asks him.

Ronan’s got a bunch of stock reasons, ones that sound plausible, and aren’t exactly lies. _Gansey said he’d kick me out of the band; my Mom wanted me to; I got bored of it._ They’re all reasons that factored in, but not the whole truth. Ronan finds he wants to tell Adam the truth. This isn’t where he thought tonight was going, but now that they’re here, Ronan doesn’t know where else they could’ve gone.

“I had a… friend. Kind of. A guy I knew. He wasn’t like, my dealer, exactly, but he’d get me stuff. Alcohol, pills, I don’t know, whatever the fuck I wanted. We’d get high together and –” Ronan hesitates here, doesn’t know how to phrase this right. “He never needed a reason; he’d just roll from one high to the next and I started to get that way too. And then he overdosed. And he just… died. He was fucking 24 years old and he was just… dead.” He’s not said this out loud to anyone before, not even his therapist. But he feels like he can tell Adam anything right now, feels like there’s nothing he could say that would make Adam turn away from him. Ronan’s used to not giving a fuck what people think about him, but this is different.

It’s like the words are water and once there’s a crack in the vessel, Ronan can’t stop them pouring out. “It fucked me up, how easily it could’ve been me. How it should’ve been me. I couldn’t stop seeing it, over and over, Gansey finding my dead body in a hotel room, having to tell my Mom, tell my brothers. I couldn’t do that to them.” It hurts, so much, thinking of how badly he could hurt people he loves. There’s more to it though. Ronan doesn’t look at Adam, he keeps talking to the glowing centre console.

“And, if I died, how would I ever get over my Dad’s death? You can’t recover from losing someone if you’re dead too. And I wanted to know what was going to happen. With the band, with my life. I didn’t want to be just another fucking tragic story. I’m still alive and that means I can get better.”

~ “I don’t want to throw it away, I want to mend what I have,” Adam says, quietly.

“Fuck, what’s that from?”

“Single-use heart. Page of Cups. Thought you didn’t listen to my music?”

“Asshole. I thought we were having a moment.”

“We are. I feel like you don’t tell a lot of people that.”

“Or any.” Ronan scrubs his hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes. They’re not wet, but they sting.

“You didn’t have to tell me all that.” Adam’s voice is unwavering.

 _I wanted to,_ Ronan thinks. But instead, he says, “You’re a judgemental bastard whether I say anything or not. What have I got to lose?”

“Is that really what you think of me?” Adam’s still speaking all soft and low.

“So? You think I’m an arrogant asshole.”

Adam doesn’t reply to that, just looks at him. Ronan looks back and he can’t work out what Adam’s thinking. The song playing on the radio changes. Instead of Adam’s obscure indie, it’s one of Ronan’s thumping EDM tracks and it comes in so startingly loud that both of them jump. Ronan slams his hand on the centre console, shutting the whole radio off. Heavy silence occupies the car, it’s weight previously held at bay by the presence of the music.

Ronan’s not expecting Adam to say anything more. He feels suddenly tired, the energy he’d expended in the show earlier catching up with him, piling onto the emotional drain of the conversation. He’s content to sit in silence, until Adam puts the music back on, or until Gansey calls him and asks him to come back to the hotel, whichever is first.

So, it surprises him, when Adam says, “Technically, I’m homeless.”

When Ronan whips his head round to look at him, Adam adds, “I’m not tryna one up you. I’m just saying so you don’t think you’re the only one in this car with problems.”

“What the fuck? You live with Sargent!”

“In a van, when we’re touring. But while we’re not, I don’t. She lives with her family, she goes home.”

“And you don’t go there with her?”

“For a couple of days, but that’s not my home. I used to have an apartment in Henrietta, but when we went to record the album, and then on the press tour, I gave it up. No point paying rent when I’m not there. I put all my stuff in a storage locker, and when we finish the tour, I’ll find somewhere else.”

“And Sargent’s okay with that?” Ronan’s not okay with it. “What about your parents?”

Adam looks like he suddenly regrets the conversation topic. “I don’t speak to my parents.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Fuck, Parrish, what about when you’re on break? You’re not on tour yet. Tell me you don’t sleep in the fucking storage locker?”

Adam doesn’t say anything, but the twist of his mouth says it all.

“Fuck, Adam! Are you trying to get murdered?”

Adam actually laughs, but it’s sardonic. “Why Lynch, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Of course I – Look, maybe I want people to think I’m easy to figure out, but you want people to think there’s nothing to figure out.”

“There is nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Parrish. You just told me you sleep in a storage locker.”

“And I also told you why. Don’t make me regret that.” Adam turns away, looks out the passenger side window, away from Ronan.

“Nobody sleeps in a storage locker to save money. That’s just –"

He cuts himself off. Arguing with Adam about this is so obviously not going to change anything. If the past month has taught Ronan anything, it’s that Adam is a stubborn shit. He swears again and unplugs Adam’s phone from the car stereo. He plugs his own in and then flicks through it until he finds the demos he’d recorded on the tour bus last month. Adam’s still glaring out the window, but he relaxes a bit when it’s clear Ronan’s dropped the argument.

“This is you? I thought you didn’t do acoustic crap.”

“It’s just stuff Gansey and I recorded while we’ve been on tour. He’s had pretty bad insomnia for a while and I’ve been having… trouble sleeping too. We just write and mess about with stuff, record things.”

Adam’s quiet as he listens. He looks focussed, intent on taking in all of the music, like he had been when Ronan was talking earlier. Ronan feels like he’s laying his soul out for Adam, he’s scared Adam won’t like what he sees.

Adam looks like what he sees deserves tenderness, and his full attention. His face is expressionless, tension drained and he’s looking intently and softly at the radio console. “I like this one, I like the way your voices sound together, with barely any guitar.”

“It’s pretty rough,” Ronan admits.

“It suits it though; they’re vulnerable lyrics and sometimes it’s more impactful just to give the words room to breathe.”

“I thought I said I didn’t want your advice on my music,” Ronan says, but he’s grinning. _Bicycles,_ he thinks.

“Why play me this, if you don’t want my advice?” Adam raises an eyebrow, but he’s grinning too.

*

The demo tracks Ronan plays are so unlike anything that he’s heard from Nightwash before. They’re so raw and stripped back, that at first, Adam only recognised them from Gansey’s vocals.

Ronan’s got his head back against the seat and his eyes closed. Adam thinks of the Ronan Lynch he saw on the stage earlier, who seemed like an invincible god and the Ronan Lynch sat in the car now, mortal wounds exposed. It seems impossible that they could both be the same person, but they’re both so _Ronan_ , it actually doesn’t seem that impossible at all.

“Stop staring at me,” Ronan says.

“No.”

Ronan opens his eyes and rolls his head so he’s looking right at Adam. The crackling music on the radio is the only evidence that time hasn’t completely stopped. They’re caught like that, just watching each other.

If someone had told Adam yesterday, that he’d spend an evening alone in a car with Ronan Lynch, Adam would have assumed that it would either end in sex or murder. Adam feels improbably vulnerable. It’s a feeling that Adam is so used to throwing up every defence he has against. That’s what’s weird about it though, he doesn’t want to run from it. Adam can’t imagine how Ronan’s feeling. Everything he’s said to Adam this evening has been so personal, and Adam is little more than a stranger.

But Adam had told him about the storage locker. It’s a secret that even Blue doesn’t know, and she knows almost all of his secrets. Adam doesn’t feel like he’s compromised his pride though. Whatever Ronan does with that information, it won’t be malicious. Adam doesn’t regret it.

Adam’s phone starts buzzing insistently. He hadn’t looked at it in ages, too absorbed in Ronan, so when it starts making noise, he jumps. It’s Blue.

“Adam! Where are you?” she shouts into the phone, with the raised volume of the inebriated.

“I’m—” Adam looks around him, tries to work out what part of the city they’re in. “I’m in Ronan Lynch’s car.”

Ronan smirks at him.

“What? Why are you in Lynch’s car?” He can’t hear the nightclub behind her, but he can hear voices in the background.

“We went for a drive. Watching your bandmates get wasted and grind on each other in a dirty nightclub isn’t that much fun even if you do drink.”

He can almost hear Blue roll her eyes. “Don’t be like that. You could’ve come dance as well. I thought I’d give you the opportunity to you know, be alone with him.” She says the last part quieter, and Adam can definitely hear her sarcastic cheeky wink. “So, did you get in anything else of Lynch’s?”

“Jesus Blue, don’t be crude.” He hopes Ronan can’t hear her, but he doubts it. “We’ve just been talking.”

“Riiiight.”

“Look shouldn’t you be getting back to your party? You didn’t seem to care where I was before.” He doesn’t mean to snap, but despite the absence of anything happening, Adam feels like she’s interrupted.

“I’m just calling because I thought you’d gone back to the van. I just got here and when you weren’t here, I was worried. Look, forget it. You’re with Lynch?”

“No, I stole Lynch’s car and drove myself in circles around DC.”

“Funny. Gansey’s here, he wants to talk to him.”

“Fuck,” Ronan swears, forcefully. He can definitely hear Blue then. There’s some rustling as the phone is passed around.

“Ronan?” Gansey sounds slightly less drunk than Blue had.

“No, it’s Adam still. I’ll pass you over.” He holds the phone out to Ronan, who looks at it like it’s going to bite him. Reluctantly, he takes it though. Their fingers brush when Ronan takes the phone and Adam feels like he’s just received a static shock. His hand tingles.

“Dick,” Ronan says. Adam can’t hear the other half of the conversation, even with the music turned low. It’s not really his business anyway. At the moment, Ronan’s just saying “No,” a lot anyway.

He says, “Yeah, I’ve been with Parrish.” Then, exasperatedly, “Look, man, if I was going to do something like that, why would I _leave_ the place with the alcohol. Stop saying that. I don’t give a fuck.”

Ronan tips his head back against the seat and closes his eyes again, but he keeps the phone to his ear. “I know,” he says, softly this time. “Listen, I’ll drop Parrish off then I’ll meet you at the hotel okay? Okay.” He hangs up without saying goodbye and hands the phone back to Adam.

Their fingers brush again when Adam takes the phone back. He feels every ridge of Ronan’s guitar calloused fingers against his own. Ronan sucks in a sharp breath and Adam swallows. There’s a second where Ronan’s hand is still suspended between them. Adam thinks he’s going to reach out and touch his face, pull him in to kiss him. It feels like live wires cross in his brain, like he’s blowing a fuse, and he can’t work out if it’s a good thing or not. Something must show on Adam’s face, or Ronan must think better of it, because he pulls his hand back, clenches it into a fist, presses his knuckles to his mouth.

“We should go,” Ronan says. Adam nods his agreement. Ronan starts the car, and neither of them speak, other than for directions to the Page of Cups campervan.

It’s been a strange night. Adam had thought he’d been heading for a quick, dirty fuck with Lynch in some generic hotel room. What he got instead was, well, maybe not better, but different. Intense in a completely unforeseen way. He spends the drive back to the van quiet and contemplating what it is he actually wants from Ronan. When he comes up with a lot of crossed wires and muddled emotions, he realises that for the first time in a long time, Adam doesn’t know what it is he wants.

*

“I had a horrible time,” Adam says as they pull into the parking lot. He’s looking straight out the front windscreen, towards where Blue is silhouetted in the light coming from inside the Page of Cups campervan.

“Yeah, you’re shitty company,” Ronan replies, but he’s grinning in spite of himself.

“See you in Henrietta then?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Adam flips him off as he gets out the car. It’s been a weird fucking night and Ronan doesn’t know where he stands with Adam, doesn’t know if Adam hates him still, or if they’re friends now, or if maybe there’s something more there.

After Ronan leaves Adam with Sargent at their tiny, shitty campervan, he opens the Page of Cups Spotify page. He scrolls through their songs until he finds _Single-use heart._ He’s heard it before, but he’s never really listened to what Adam sings.

_I’ll fix the damage like I plan on using it again, clean the stains off like it deserves it,_

_I don’t want to throw it away, I want to mend what I have._

Maybe someone else gets it.

*

Blue Sargent: @nightwash show was fun last night!! @gansey3 @chenry @noahwaydude thanks for having us!! @fakeronanlynch you too I guess

Ronan Lynch: @mynameisblue i didn’t even notice you were there

Blue Sargent: @fakeronanlynch distracted, were we?

Adam Parrish: @mynameisblue @fakeronanlynch he was just intimated by being in the presence of a superior guitar player

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish @mynameisblue you can both fuck off

Henry Cheng: @mynameisblue @thenparrish @fakeronanlynch 👀

“You’re supposed to tweet something about the Nightwash show as well, y’know,” Blue says. They’re back in Henrietta, a week off before they go on tour. Real tour. Proper, tour bus, security team, tour schedule posters tour. Adam’s not nervous.

“I just did,” Adam replies. Blue looks back at her phone and raises an eyebrow. _That’s not going to fly with PR,_ the eyebrow says. “Fine,” Adam groans, and starts typing a tweet.

Adam Parrish: @nightwash looking forward to hearing new stuff from you guys

“You cannot say that. They just put an album out,” Blue says. Adam hasn’t sent the tweet yet; his finger is hovering over the button though.

“Didn’t realise you were a member of their PR team,” he says.

Blue huffs. “And you promised me you’d stop.”

“I don’t think I _promised._ ” Adam’s holding his phone loosely in his hand and when Blue smacks the bottom of his hand upwards, the phone jumps in the air. Blue snatches it out of mid-air and runs into the pantry in the corner of the Fox Way kitchen.

“Blue!” Adam doesn’t try and force the door open to get his phone, isn’t going to rise to her stupid games. They’re not 16 anymore. “If you tweet from my account, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Tell on me?” she shouts through the door. “Uh oh, too late.”

“What have you said?” Adam doesn’t care that much, it’s only Twitter, he can just delete the tweet. It’s not like she’s going to tweet ‘ _I’m a poophead.’_ Well, he hopes she isn’t.

Adam hears the tell-tale shuffle of platform shoes and the snapping of gum that can only mean one thing. And sure enough—

“God, you two have been back here for a hot minute and you’re already bickering like you’re in high school,” Orla says. “What’s the matter? Are you arguing over boys again?”

Adam catches the door before it hits him in the face as Hurricane Blue is unleashed from the pantry.

“We have never argued over _boys_ ,” Blue sneers. Adam uses the opportunity to extract his phone from Blue’s hand.

He checks his Twitter while Blue bickers with Orla like they did when Blue and Adam were in high school.

Adam Parrish: LOVED the @nightwash show in DC last night

Fuck.

Henry Cheng: @thenparrish bet you loved your private after party more though

_Fuck._

It’s not too late, he can delete his tweet and Henry’s tweet will disappear with the thread. But there’s probably already screenshots of the tweets out there and wouldn’t deleting just be suspicious? Adam’s got to stop being so paranoid; nothing even happened.

He needs to reply, can’t just let that tweet sit there. He wonders if Ronan’s seen the tweet yet.

“Look what you’ve done.” He shows Henry’s reply to Blue.

Blue cackles. Orla comes over and cranes her neck over Adam’s shoulder to read the tweets.

“Oh wow. The fans that ship you with Ronan Lynch are going to _love_ that.”

“The fans that do _what_ with me and Lynch?” Adam’s not sure he wants to know.

“Ship you. You know, they want you to be in a relationship.”

Adam splutters. “People think that?”

“You didn’t think you were tweeting into a vacuum, did you? Everyone saw you flirting with him.”

“I told you so,” Blue says, primly.

“I, for one, do not blame you. Given the opportunity, I too, would flirt with Ronan Lynch,” Adam chooses to ignore that. Orla pauses, and then says, “It’s actually caused a lot of controversy in the Nightwash fandom.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“Well, the main shipping theory in the Nightwash fandom is that Ronan and Gansey have been in a secret relationship since high school.”

This time it’s Blue’s turn to splutter. “What?”

Orla looks like she’s having the time of her life. “Oh yeah, and now there’s a separate theory that Adam’s been with Ronan since high school and this whole Twitter rivalry is staged to set up your public relationship.”

“I like that theory more than the Gansey one,” Blue says. Adam feels betrayed for a confused second, and then he realises that if there’s going to be a fan theory, he’d rather it involved him and Ronan.

“So, Adam. What is the truth?” Orla asks him.

“You’re the psychic. Why don’t you tell me?”

Orla smirks knowingly at him, and winks. “It’ll happen,” she says. Adam feels his face heat up. “Check your Twitter.”

Ronan Lynch: @chenry @thenparrish jealous cheng?

Henry Cheng: @fakeronanlynch @thenparrish please, I spend enough time alone with you as it is. Don’t know how Parrish didn’t commit homicide.

Adam Parrish: @chenry @fakeronanlynch it was a close call

Adam’s got everything Orla said playing on his mind. Everything from fan theories to _‘it’ll happen._ ’ He’s been spending time around psychics since he became friends with Blue at seven years old, but he’s still not used to the whole ‘ _we don’t do specifics, until we do,’_ thing.

His phone buzzes.

Ronan: Got your phone back from Sargent then?

Adam: Apparently my original Nightwash tweet wasn’t up to her standards as your new PR manager

Ronan: What was it?

Adam: I wanted to say I was looking forward to new stuff from you

Ronan: Shithead. What’s wrong with that?

Adam: Were you not in your version of the horrible PR meeting?

Ronan: The one that ended with you and Sargent in DC? I was but I have selective hearing and I selected to not hear anything.

Adam: Good one. I meant to talk to you about it. See what you thought about what they said?

Ronan: Distracted?

Adam: Something like that.

Ronan: Honestly? Fuck PR.

Adam: I knew you’d say that.

Ronan: I’ll fake being your friend. Might be pushing it with Sargent though.

Adam: Fake friends? Fine with me.

Ronan: What’s the problem then? Do you not bully your friends on Twitter?

Adam: There’s a lot of things I’d do with you that I wouldn’t do with my other friends.

Ronan doesn’t reply to that and Adam thinks maybe he’s pissed him off, or that was too far. Nothing happened last night in DC and Adam doesn’t know where he stands anymore. Clearly he’s not going to be having one dirty night with Lynch and then never seeing him again. But then he thinks about what Orla said. ‘ _It’ll happen._ ’

And then,

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish are you gonna show me how it’s done in Henrietta, Parrish? Fas est ab hoste doceri.

Adam grins at his phone, then types his reply, small smile still playing on his lips.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch miseria fortes viros, Lynch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t been able to see my family this Christmas, and this fic has been really good for distracting me from that lol. Hope you've all had lovely holiday seasons, whatever you might be celebrating, in spite of this terrible year! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought!!  
> I'm on Tumblr at [behindtheatlantic](https://behindtheatlantic.tumblr.com)! Once again, thanks for reading!!! <333


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know I wrote it right? You don’t have to sound so embarrassed about liking it.”  
> “I know. I don’t want you to think I’m like—” Ronan snorts. “Obsessed with you.”  
> “I cannot name a single thing you’ve done that would lead me to that conclusion,” Adam says, dryly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who’s left a comment or kudos so far! It's so lovely to read what you all think of my fic! I wrote this chapter a little while ago, so I thought it wouldn’t be too long before I posted this after chapter 3, but then I read it all through and I didn’t like it, so I ended up rewriting loads of it, hence the amount of time between chapters! I hope it's worth wait ;) Enjoy!!

Ronan’s got a few days off from the tour and he’s so close to home, he can’t help but let himself get pulled back there. He wants to be back at the Barns so badly, he doesn’t even consider that going there alone could ever be a bad idea.

The familiarity is instant and overwhelming, like it always has been. The trees arching over the winding roads like a tunnel to another world; the weird swoop in his stomach that he gets when he drives over that dip in the road, the one he deliberately speeds up for. Ronan could drive these roads with his eyes shut.

The memories come in flashes as he turns into The Barns driveway; the song that was playing when they drove home in a thunderstorm; lying on the backseat of his Dad’s car, leg propped up because he’d broken it falling off the roof; arguing with Declan in the back, Matthew in the middle, his mom in the front, laughing at their bickering; his dad telling him instruments to listen out for in the song on the radio; the ambulance, his dad lying face down in the driveway, the ambulance, blood streaming from his nose, the ambulance, the blood, the ambulance.

Ronan almost wraps the car around one of the trees lining in the driveway when he has to pull over to throw up. He hasn’t been back alone since he got sober. Every other time, he’s had Matthew or Gansey to distract him. Ronan doesn’t know why he thought he could do this alone. He thinks about driving away, before anyone knows he was here.

He can’t though. If Ronan can’t be here, alone and sober, then what’s even the point. This is his home. This is the last place his father was alive and dammit, he’s not going to let his own stupid brain take that away from him. There’s a bottle of water in the door pocket and despite not knowing where it came from, or how long it’s been there, Ronan washes his mouth out with it. He spits on the gravel and gets out the car.

The buildings are the same, the same mismatched barns scattered across the landscape, the same familiar farmhouse, like an old friend waiting for him. It’s the only place in the world that Ronan could ever call home.

Ronan thinks again how he’s never been back here sober, or alone. Never been here having to face what he’d lost without someone or something to distract him from it. There are ghosts here, Ronan thinks. And not just the ghost of his father, the ghost of who he’d been before. Before his father died, when he was young, when he thought he knew everything. Everything about who he was, about the world, and about his place in it.

The only thing Ronan knows now, is that he knew nothing back then.

*

Ronan spends two days at The Barns, looking through all the stuff he’s left there from his childhood, and messing around with his father’s musical instruments. He hopes that playing Niall’s guitar will make him feel connected to his dad, but it doesn’t. The music room is full of his father’s instruments, and his awards and albums adorn the shelves. If Niall Lynch were to come back as a ghost, this is the room he would haunt. It’s a stupid thought, but it’s one Ronan can’t get out of his head. It’s futile. Niall Lynch was too alive to ever be a ghost.

He can tell Matthew’s been at the Barns recently too. His drum kit is set up in the music room and it’s surrounded by discarded crisp packets and energy drink cans. Matthew’s out in California, recording his own band’s first full album but Ronan texts him a photo of the mess.

R: _Clean up your shit, kiddo_

Matthew ‘s reply comes a few minutes later.

M: _Sorry!!!!!!!!!!!_

Ronan abandons his attempts at communicating with his father and instead spends a few hours fucking about on the drums. Ronan doesn’t play the drums often and he’s forgotten how much he enjoys it. The noise, the energy, the fact that when you’re playing them, there’s no space in your head to think about anything else. Ronan expects that the last one is because he’s out of practice.

He doesn’t write anything new, despite attempting to, and he doesn’t realise he’s lonely until early in the evening on the second day. Gansey claimed he had things to do in DC, Henry had flown home to Vancouver to see his family and Noah was staying in New York with his sister.

Then he remembers Adam. Adam, who was probably moping around Henrietta and sleeping in his fucking storage locker, like he’s asking to be horribly murdered. Ronan’s in the car and halfway to Henrietta before he realises he has no idea where to go.

If he didn’t hate his phone so much, he thinks, then it could tell him where to go. Instead, he drives in circles around parts of Henrietta he knows, and parts he vaguely does and then parts he definitely doesn’t, until he sees a sign for storage lockers. The sun’s setting by now, and the storage units are dilapidated, cold and creepy. Impersonal, but with the ominous feeling of being watched, in that way only old industrial sites are.

He's about to give up, when he sees a motorcycle propped against a bank of lockers, and light coming from under the rolling door of one of them. Ronan doesn’t think, he just walks up to the unit, and bangs on the door.

There’s a crash from inside, like someone’s been startled.

“Parrish?” Ronan shouts.

“Lynch?” It’s definitely Adam. And hey, he’s not been murdered. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Checking you’re not dead,” Ronan replies.

The door rolls up and Adam’s standing on the other side. He’s lit from behind by a camping lantern, and he’s wearing sweatpants and a Coca-Cola t-shirt that’s worn thin with age. It’s the first time Ronan’s seen Adam wearing something that’s not Adam ParrishTM and it throws him for a loop. He looks like he’s just woken up and also like he hasn’t slept in days. He looks so human, and despite his hard stare, he looks delicate. Ronan wants to punch the brick wall.

“Checking in case you weren’t joking. Which clearly.” He gestures behind to Adam where there’s a tiny air mattress on the floor.

“Great. You can go now.” Adam goes to pull down the shutter, but Ronan catches it in his hand.

“Seriously man, there’re more exciting ways to have a death wish.”

“You would know.”

“Fuck off.”

“Why are you here, Ronan?” Adam sighs.

“I just thought we could, hang out?”

Adam raises an eyebrow, then twists his mouth consideringly. Then he says, “Fine.”

He picks up a backpack and a guitar case off the floor and stands the mattress up against the back of the wall.

“Can you grab the motorcycle?” Adam asks Ronan.

“The motorcycle? It’s yours?” The mental image that conjures up, of elegant Adam Parrish and his elegant hands, on a fucking motorcycle, is one Ronan is going to have to dedicate some serious time to thinking about.

He grabs the motorcycle by the handles, but he can’t budge it. Parrish comes out of the locker and rolls his eyes at Ronan. He kicks something under the bike and does something else that Ronan doesn’t see, and he wheels the bike in.

“What’s the matter, Lynch? Don’t know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“No and I don’t know how to play the fucking theremin either. Are you adding these up?”

“I might be,” Adam says, with a smirk.

Adam’s got a little more than a five o’clock shadow and it’s so fair that Ronan doesn’t really notice until they’re walking back through the poorly lit storage yard. Moonlight catches on the hollows and ridges of Adam’s face. The contrasts of his face make him look otherworldly but earthy, rugged but untouchable. Ronan has got to get a grip. Adam thinks he’s an arrogant asshole and Ronan’s not about to prove him wrong.

As they’re walking, Adam moves around behind Ronan, so Ronan’s on his right. It’s not the first time he’s noticed Adam do something like that, and while Ronan doesn’t know what it means that he does it yet, but it seems important. He also doesn’t think Adam would like him pointing it out though, so he stays quiet and thinks about Adam on a motorcycle.

*

Adam can’t believe he’s going to get into Ronan Lynch’s car again. Half of him wishes he’d never told Ronan about the storage locker thing in the first place. He’s lied to enough people about where he stays when he’s in Henrietta. Told the label he’s staying at Fox Way, told Blue he’s got a hotel room. Ronan’s different though. It felt easier to tell him the truth than to lie.

Next to him, in the weird orange light of Henrietta at night, Ronan’s glowing like an ember. Adam’s only ever felt this weird mix of nervous and excited before performing before. He thinks wildly what it’s going to be like to kiss Ronan. Like deliberately stepping in a bear trap. Like putting your hand into an open fire. “Where are we going?” he asks, instead of chasing those thoughts any further. Anticipation is clawing at his insides.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

They’ve stopped at the car. Adam looks expectantly at Ronan, waiting for him to unlock it, but Ronan just throws his keys into the air and catches them. A van rumbles down the street, past them. “You know how to drive a stick?” Ronan finally asks. He throws his keys again.

“Yeah, I used to be a mechanic.” Ronan’s keys clatter on the floor, a jarring sound in the quiet night.

Adam laughs. “Something wrong?”

“Fuck, I didn’t know that.” He looks like Adam’s dropped a bomb on him. “When?”

Adam swallows his pride. Why does it matter that if Ronan knows this? Last time they were together, Ronan told him far more. “In high school. And then a little while after. It’s been useful when we’ve been travelling for shows; our shitty van breaks down so much.” He wonders if Ronan’s going to ask him why, or ask him questions about it, but instead he picks his keys off the sidewalk and throws them at Adam.

“You drive.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, just don’t stall it,” Ronan says.

Adam gives him a withering look and unlocks the car.

Inside the car, Adam’s face lights up with the dash and he’s not even embarrassed to be grinning when he starts the engine. The BMW vibrates to life beneath him and Adam forgets why getting in a car with Ronan could ever have been a bad idea.

He’s never driven a car this nice before, never had an excuse to just put his foot down and feel the power surge beneath him. Adam feels his stomach swoop with every gear change and his heart rate increase with the car’s acceleration. Driving this car, he thinks, is just like playing the electric guitar; energy, exhilaration, chasing down your gut instinct because you know it’s taking you somewhere good.

He knows Ronan’s watching him, can see him smirking like a shark out of the corner of his eye. It’s like a feedback loop; every time he accelerates, Ronan’s expression gets more intense and the more intently Ronan looks at him, the faster Adam wants to drive. He wants to chase that instinct too, wants it to take him somewhere good.

Ronan’s prodding at the car radio and Adam startles a bit as his own voice comes out of the speakers. Ronan glares at the radio like it’s betrayed him. He slams his hand on the volume control, turning the sound down but Adam laughs at him and turns it back up using the volume control on the steering wheel.

“I just like that song, okay?” Ronan says, and if Adam thought that Ronan Lynch ever got embarrassed, that’s what he would sound like.

“You know I wrote it right? You don’t have to sound so embarrassed about liking it.”

“I know. I don’t want you to think I’m like—” Ronan snorts. “Obsessed with you.”

“I cannot name a single thing you’ve done that would lead me to that conclusion,” Adam says, dryly.

Ronan huffs and looks out the passenger side window. Adam glances at him out of the corner of his eye. There’s a muscle jumping in Ronan’s jaw. On the radio, Adam’s still singing.

“I don’t actually like this one, as much. I sound so fucking country,” Adam offers.

“I thought that was deliberate. Some pretentious hipster affectation.”

“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ronan gestures at the radio. “I like this.” He sounds painfully earnest. Adam can feel his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning. He’s glad he’s driving; he doesn’t have to see Ronan’s reaction.

The music changes, something with a rhythmic backing track and a low voice murmuring over it. It’s not Page of Cups, and that’s probably a good thing for Adam’s sanity.

Adam could live in this moment forever, but. He can’t. “It’s late,” he says, slowing the car down. He turns to drive back to the storage locker. “I’ve got a gig tomorrow night.”

“You do. I’ll be there. I couldn’t think of a reason not to go.”

“I don’t think you tried hard enough.” Adam gets a little thrill from saying that, from calling Ronan’s bluff.

“Guess I didn’t.” He sighs. “I’m staying in Henrietta tonight. Gansey’s got an apartment here still. He won’t be there though, and there’s a spare room, if you want it.”

Adam considers the offer. Or at least he tries to look he’s considering it. He really doesn’t want to sleep in the fucking storage locker. Ronan’s right, he’s going to get murdered or he’s going to freeze to death. He slept there last night and the little space heater he’s got packed in at around 4am. “Okay. Just for tonight though.”

Ronan directs him to a hulking, desolate brick building in a part of Henrietta Adam knows, but isn’t intimately acquainted with. He stares up through the windscreen at the gaping maw of the black windows. The building looks ravenous, like an eldritch beast turned to brick and mortar, but with the desire to devour the universe still pulsing within.

“Seriously?” he says. “All that lecturing about not getting murdered in a storage locker and you’ve brought me to an abandoned factory.”

“You drove. Technically you’ve brought yourself,” Ronan says as he gets out of the car. He’s such a shit. Still, Adam follows him out of the car and up the hidden stairs to the first floor.

Inside, it’s dust, papers, dust, guitars with broken strings, dust, half a drum kit, and more dust. Adam can’t believe that actual musical instruments have just been abandoned here. There’s a bed as well, and something about its location, right in the centre of the room, feels a little obscene to Adam, like he’s seeing someone he doesn’t know very well naked.

“What even is this place?” he asks, as he cranes his head back to look at the high ceiling, steel beams exposed, like the ribs of the beast they’ve willingly walked into.

“Monmouth manufacturing.” Ronan grins sharply and spreads his arms.

“That didn’t help, Lynch. I’m seeing a dusty graveyard for perfectly serviceable instruments and—” Adam glances through a door. “Is that a fridge next to the toilet?”

“So?”

Adam just looks at him disbelievingly.

“When we were at Aglionby, we lived here. Me and Gansey.”

It makes sense, Richard Gansey in this obscure, grand place. Adam didn’t know Gansey well, but what he did know, frontman of a rock band, rather than follow in the footsteps of his parents to become a Virginia politician, this place fit him. Looked on the inside how Gansey looked on the outside. “What about Henry and Noah?”

“Henry lived across town with the Vancouver crowd and Noah’s a couple of years older than us. We didn’t know him too well at Aglionby, not until we needed a drummer.” Ronan’s pacing about the apartment, opening and closing doors, picking up discarded bits of paper.

Adam goes over to the large wooden desk, up against the floor to ceiling windows. There’s a pot, containing dried soil, faithfully cradling the dried, skeletal remains of a long dead plant. Adam gently touches a shrivelled leaf and at his touch, it floats to the desk. There’s also a dead electronic guitar tuner and an unopened pack of guitar strings, discarded amongst the sheet music and blank paper strewn across the desk.

Adam’s eyes catch on the packet of strings and a lump rises in his throat. He’s forcibly reminded of being so careful with the strings of his own guitar, making sure they never snapped. He’d collected change in a cereal box under his bed so when they did, he’d have money for new ones right away. He can’t imagine ever just casually discarding a whole pack, abandoning them to gather dust. They’re a good brand too, the kind that Adam gets put on his guitars for him for free now. He reminds himself of that, that he doesn’t have to worry about breaking the strings anymore, but it doesn’t stop the hot flush of insecurity clogging his throat and making his hands shake.

Luckily, Ronan isn’t paying attention to Adam’s fixation on the guitar strings. “I’ll sleep in my room and you can have Gansey’s bed?” he asks, breaking into Adam’s reverie.

“Um.” Adam’s really got to stop misreading the situation. That insecurity is still sat high in his chest. But then he thinks of that Wheel of Fortune card Maura pulled for him yesterday. ‘ _You can change things,’_ she’d told him. “Are you sure you wanna do that?” he asks Ronan, with a crooked grin.

“What--?” Ronan starts to say. Adam drops his insecurity with the packet of guitar strings. Whatever happens now, none of that matters.

“Jeez, it’s almost like you’ve never got into a homoerotically charged Twitter feud before. Would you like me to explain it to you?”

Ronan grins, wide and dirty. “Fuck off, asshole,” he says and then he crosses the room to Adam in three great strides.

He and Ronan have been circling each other for months now, and the tension is boiling over. It feels like all their Twitter rivalry was just foreplay for what is hopefully going to be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Adam. Ronan’s hands are on Adam’s sides, and their bodies crash together. Adam’s hands come up to wrap around the back of Ronan’s neck, bringing him down those infuriating two inches. Ronan’s lips brush against his and Adam inhales, bracing for the kiss.

The door opens. Adam jumps and bangs his hip on the desk. Ronan springs back like he’s been burnt.

“Oh, hi Ronan. I thought you were staying at the Barns?” It’s Gansey. “Adam! I didn’t know you’d be here either, what a…” He must catch sight of the look on Ronan’s face, because he trails off.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Dick? I thought you were staying in DC tonight.” Ronan’s obvious anger vindicates Adam.

“Well, I had some things I wanted to do in Henrietta.” Gansey at least has the grace to look sheepish.

_I bet you did,_ Adam thinks. Blue had been very cryptic when he’d asked her what she was up to tonight. He doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t want to make this more awkward than it already is. He’s stood looking between Gansey and Ronan like he’s watching an incredibly slow tennis match. Clearly, communication in Nightwash is poor.

“Well so did I.”

Gansey looks right at Adam then. Adam very quickly looks out the window, faking nonchalance as best as he can.

“Do you want me to leave?” Gansey asks Ronan.

“Fuck man, I’m not gonna kick you out of your own apartment.”

_I would,_ Adam thinks, and then immediately feels mean. He pulls out his phone and texts Blue.

A: _Were you with Gansey?_

She replies quickly.

B: _Yeah, it’s called a date, it’s what you do when you like someone._

A: _Oh, I thought you were bitchy about them on the radio._

B: _How’s that working out for you?_

A: _Well, until your boyfriend showed up. Why are you not still with him?_

B: _That’s really nice that the two of you went on a date, Blue. How did it go?_

A: _Badly I’m assuming._

Gansey and Ronan are still talking, and Adam tunes back in at the sound of his own name.

“Parrish and I’ll just sleep in my room. It’s cool,” Ronan is saying.

“Adam could sleep in—”

“The spare room? That’s packed floor to ceiling with your shit from your parents? He might as well sleep in a storage locker.”

Adam glares at Ronan, tries to telepathically tell him to fuck off. It must work because Ronan beams at him. Adam goes back to texting Blue.

B: _At first it was a bit awkward, but I think he relaxed and it was great in the end._

A: _If it was so great, why is he here?_

B: _You really need to learn how normal dating conventions work_

A: _You say that like my way isn’t working perfectly for me._

It had been working for Adam, anyway.

“Well, you and I could share –” Gansey says, but Ronan cuts across him.

“Gansey. It’s fine. Parrish and I are playing nice, just like you told me I had to.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. I’m just going to grab some stuff from the Pig,” Gansey says, and then he leaves again.

Adam’s takes his toothbrush out of his backpack. He’s glad he grabbed it, even though he hadn’t thought about where he was going to end up with Ronan. If nothing’s going to happen, he might as well just go to bed.

“Presumptuous,” Ronan snorts. He’s leaning casually against the door frame, watching Adam.

“Prepared,” Adam retorts.

“How were you planning on brushing your teeth in the storage locker? Inflatable sink?”

“Maybe I was never going to sleep there. Maybe it was just a ruse.”

“Yeah right. I know you.” And that, _that,_ those three words tug on something deep inside Adam. He doesn’t reply to Ronan, doesn’t think he can be alone with him right now without kissing him and Gansey’s going to be back any minute. 

Adam brushes his teeth in the kitchen/bathroom. It’s a hybrid of rooms that he concludes only occurs when teenage boys live unsupervised. He definitely doesn’t want to think about the state the apartment would have got in back when Ronan and Gansey lived here. There’s a questionable stain on the wall opposite the fridge and Adam is morbidly curious about the state of the inside of the fridge. He doesn’t open it though; he can control his curiosity.

He hears the front door creak open again and then he can hear Ronan and Gansey talking on the other side of the door. They’re not even trying to keep their voices down.

“You’re a cockblocking fuck,” he hears Ronan say.

“I’ve heard that before,” Gansey sighs.

“And yet you never learn,” Ronan says, but he sounds affectionate. Adam thinks he should probably say something; he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Not that it’s deliberate, they’re talking damn loud for him to be able to hear, with only one working ear.

“You could’ve just told me. I did offer to leave.”

“Yeah, and how would that’ve looked. Sorry Gansey, do you mind leaving because I want to bang Parrish tonight. He was right there!”

“Oh yeah and you’re all about subtlety.”

“Um, guys!” Adam calls. “The doors aren’t very thick!”

There’s silence from the other side and then the hiss of frantic whispering. The bathroom door flies open, and Adam nearly chokes laughing at the look on Ronan’s face. He really didn’t think it was possible for Ronan Lynch to actually look embarrassed, but he looks mortified.

“If you hadn’t been trying to be _subtle,_ we could’ve come straight here. Fuck driving around.” he says

Ronan grins. “I think I’m insulted, that you think I’m that easy.”

Adam snorts. “I am that easy. Was this a date?”

“Was it not obvious? This is our second date.”

“I don’t remember you asking me out on any dates.”

“Two.”

Adam looks at him disbelievingly. “You’re something else, Lynch.”

When Adam goes back into the main room, Gansey is sorting through piles of paper on the far side of the room. The bathroom/kitchen door shuts pointedly behind him and Gansey looks up. He’s been trying hard to make it look like he wasn’t listening, but Adam doesn’t think that means he wasn’t.

“Adam,” Gansey says, and he still sounds awkward. “If you want, I can leave. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t, it’s fine. Like Ronan said, it would be unfair to kick you out of your own apartment.”

Gansey really looks like he wants to say something more. He keeps opening and closing his mouth and it looks to Adam like he’s constantly changing his mind about what to say. Adam waits. Whatever it is, it’s clearly going to be about Ronan, and something tells Adam that it’s important to hear.

“He’s not as tough as he seems, Adam,” Gansey finally says. Adam thinks about Ronan in the car in DC. “Don’t hurt him.”

He doesn’t know what Gansey wants him to say but Gansey’s waiting for him to say something. Adam swallows and says, “I don’t think I could,” and he’s surprised by how deeply he means it.

Gansey nods and then he grins, “Are you going to say I shouldn’t hurt Blue?”

“I don’t have to tell you that. She’s perfectly capable of making you aware of that herself,” Adam replies, but he smiles as he says it, so Gansey knows he’s not offended. Gansey’s nodding, wide eyed, like he already knows.

Ronan’s out the bathroom now anyway and that puts an end to the conversation, if it could even be called that.

“Bedtime, Parrish?” Ronan says. He jerks his head towards the door that must lead to his room.

_Fuck that,_ Adam thinks. He has no idea how he’s ever going to sleep with Ronan right _there._ Adam follows him into the room.

Unlike the main room, this room has been almost completely emptied. There’s less discarded paper in here, but there’s more dust and the ghosts of posters cover the walls, more faded in some places than others. There’s a desk in here too, but it’s considerably more battered than Gansey’s, although Adam can’t picture Ronan doing any work in here.

“Why does Gansey keep this place?” Adam asks, instead of commenting on the room.

“Nostalgia? I don’t know, he fucking loves Henrietta, says it’s the first place that’s ever felt like home, and he likes having a place here to come back to. He keeps all this stuff here so he’s got it when he comes back.”

“Doesn’t seem like he’s been back in a while though.”

“No, but he loves this dump. He’s got a place in DC, and a place in New York, but he’s always more… himself here.” One day, Adam thinks, he’ll have the money to have that, apartments in different cities, some with justification and some for no reason at all. Ronan’s scratching at the back of his neck and looking awkwardly around his abandoned room. He looks, Adam thinks, like he’s guilty about something. “He nearly had to give it up. To keep me at Aglionby.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“I dropped out. I thought you knew that.”

“I didn’t _actually_ google you, you know,” Adam says. Ronan laughs and grins at him. _Take the plunge,_ Adam thinks, and then he says, “I had a scholarship. To Aglionby.”

Adam’s not sure what reaction he’s expecting from Ronan, surprise, laughter, indifference. But Ronan doesn’t say anything. The grin drops off his face like a stone, but he doesn’t speak.

Somewhere out there, Adam muses, is an alternate universe where he ended up going to Aglionby. He wonders what parallel universe Adam thinks of parallel universe Ronan. He wonders if they would have been friends at school. Probably not. At school, Adam did everything he could to get top grades and extra credit. Ronan never does things unless he wants to, consequences be damned. Adam’s not sure if anything could’ve held the two of them in the same orbit long enough for them to become friends. But he also can’t imagine that there’s an Adam out there who doesn’t feel this undeniable gravity when he looks at whatever Ronan he shares that universe with.

Adam doesn’t know what to say next, he wants to give explanations, or brush it off, like it was unimportant and him not going was his decision. The words all clog in his throat though, lodging in around the leftover insecurity that he hadn’t managed to swallow.

And then Ronan says, “But you didn’t go.” And it’s as simple as that. He says it like he understands, like he doesn’t need to hear Adam explain himself.

Adam should feel bitter he thinks. He wonders if alternate-universe-Adam felt bitter when alternate-universe-Ronan dropped out. So much would have separated them back then. Adam doesn’t know how they could’ve been friends at all. Now, there’s barely anything between them. Adam’s even got things Ronan doesn’t; a high school diploma for one. Maybe that’s unfair; Adam can’t imagine Ronan in any sort of academic scenario. He’s too _Ronan._

“You want the left?” Ronan asks. Adam considers the question, wonders if it means Ronan’s noticed his ear, that he has a preference for which side of the conversation he’d rather be on.

“Yeah,” he says. And Adam has to ask. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About my ear.” At Ronan’s blank look, he elaborates. “I can’t hear on the left.” Adam can’t remember the last time he actually had to tell someone else that.

“I didn’t know,” Ronan says. Adam’s not sure he believes him, but he can’t put words back in his mouth.

“You wanna be little spoon?” Ronan grins at him, but Adam doesn’t answer because Ronan’s undoing his belt and he can’t have cohesive thoughts while that’s going on. Adam can’t keep his eyes off all the creamy skin that’s exposed to him, as Ronan’s jeans pool on the floor.

Adam’s painfully aware of the fact that Gansey’s just on the other side of the door. What Gansey had said hadn’t bothered him at the time, but now he’s looking at Ronan, Gansey’s words are playing on a loop in his head. Adam’s been trying to build up a picture of who Ronan Lynch is in his head, but the more time he spends with Ronan, the more the pieces he has shift and turn into something else.

He turns away from Ronan and shucks his sweatpants. When he turns back, Ronan’s in the bed.

“Get the light.”

In the dark, Adam lies on his side, facing towards Ronan, bad ear pressed into the pillow. Not for the first time that night, Adam thinks about what it would be like to kiss Ronan. He doesn’t though, and when his eyes adjust to the dark and he sees Ronan staring at the ceiling.

“Why sing like that? If you don’t like it?” Ronan asks. It’s the first time, Adam thinks, that Ronan’s ever outright asked him a question, rather than wait for Adam to offer up the information.

“I can’t help it,” Adam replies. He rolls his eyes, but Ronan’s not looking. The only light comes from the crescent moon, creeping through the slats in the blind. “I first had singing lessons when I was maybe 11 or 12, and I didn’t know then to not sing like that. And now I can’t _not.”_

“You had singing lessons? And yet…”

“Asshole. Blue’s family, they’re musicians and they’re psychics. Music school and psychic appointments all under one roof.” He smiles fondly at the memories.

“And that’s how you met Sargent?”

“No, we were at elementary school together. Class weird kids.”

“No change there.”

“True,” Adam concedes. “I used to go to her house and there’d always be people playing music, singing, piano and all these amazing, obscure instruments. Have you ever wanted something so badly that you can’t even explain to yourself why you want it?”

“Yes,” Ronan answers, quickly. Adam can feel the heat of his gaze on him now. Adam understands. But he carries on. Speaking to the dark is easy.

“Well, that’s what this was like. And I knew I could never ask my parents for music lessons. They’d never have done something like that.” He doesn’t like to admit that to people. But Ronan isn’t people. Adam doesn’t think Ronan’s going to judge him for anything he says. “But Blue’s family taught her, and they let me sit in with her. I’ve always been a fast learner, and she’d get so mad when I’d pick stuff up quicker than her.” He’s properly grinning now, remembering learning scales on the piano and how to transfer knowledge gained on one instrument to another. Him and Blue, alone in the music room, playing guitar back and forth to each other, because sometimes that was easier than talking.

“I was really fortunate to have them, looking back on it. I’m going to repay them one day, Maura and Calla and Persephone. They gave me so much, just because I was friends with Blue.”

Ronan grunts consideringly. Adam feels the mattress shift as Ronan rolls over to face him. He can almost feel Ronan’s breath on his face. It should be gross, and Adam should definitely feel uncomfortable being this close to someone who isn’t Blue, but he just. Doesn’t.

“I didn’t know he’d be here,” Ronan whispers.

“I know. I’m not annoyed,” Adam whispers back.

Ronan huffs. “I am.”

Adam reaches his across the space between them until his fingers brush Ronan’s jaw. Adam can feel sharp stubble beneath his fingertips, and he can feel Ronan’s breath against the palm of his hand when he turns his head into the touch.

“Adam,” Ronan says. Adam thinks it’s probably the first time he’s ever heard Ronan call him Adam, instead of Parrish. Adam can feel Ronan’s lips moving against his palm, and when Ronan turns his head more and presses a kiss to his skin, Adam’s heart stutters.

Adam shifts forwards on the bed, until not even their breath is separating them. Ronan gasps against his mouth and Adam would pull back but he can’t. It’s that gravity again and he can’t fight it, doesn’t even want to. Nothing’s going to stop him this time.

Ronan’s hands have fisted in his t-shirt and he pulls Adam close to him, kisses him with all the fierceness and intensity Adam knew he was capable of. Adam groans and licks softly into Ronan’s mouth; he tastes like mint from his toothpaste, and when he curls his tongue against Ronan’s, Ronan makes a soft noise that shoots right through every part of Adam’s body at settles at his cock.

Everything coalesces. Adam _wants._ He wants Ronan’s mouth against his over and over, wants his body, to put his hands all over Ronan and make him make those noises again and again. Adam’s hungry for it, didn’t realise how starving he was until he had a taste. He rolls across the bed, braces his forearms on either side of Ronan’s head. Ronan tangles his fingers in Adam’s hair and pulls him down to keep him close, keep kissing him.

But. He yawns. “Fuck. I’m so tired.” Adam presses his forehead against Ronan’s, and speaks almost into his mouth, lips brushing with every syllable. “I want to keep going. But—”

“It’s okay.” Ronan runs his fingers through Adam’s hair and kisses him again, just once, softly. “Gansey’s out there. And I’m loud.”

Adam laughs and kisses Ronan again. “I’m sure I can keep you quiet.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Ronan says and then he uses his hand on the back of Adam’s head to pull him back down to kiss him. Adam doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this, of Ronan’s wet, plush lips moving against his. Ronan’s hands pull his hips down and when Adam’s hard cock grinds into Ronan’s, they both moan out loud.

Adam slaps his hand over his mouth and they both look guiltily at the door. Ronan laughs, and his smile is reflecting the moonlight. Adam’s want is infinite.

He yawns again though, so wide his jaw cracks, and he curses his body for betraying him like this.

“You need to sleep, Parrish. Big day tomorrow.”

“Fuck off,” he says to Ronan, around another yawn. “Thought you wanted to _bang.”_

Ronan laughs, delighted. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He runs his fingers through Adam’s hair again and Adam pushes into the touch. “Another time,” Ronan says, so softly.

Adam slumps back down to the bed. The promise of another time, a future that contains more kisses like that is heady. As much as Adam wants right now, he knows he can wait, and he knows the pay-off will be sweeter because of it. He shifts until he can kiss Ronan again without lifting his head from the pillow. They fall asleep like that, between one sleepy kiss and the next.

*

Ronan wakes up too hot. Sun is streaming in through the slats in the blind, the blankets are heavy on top of him and his limbs are tangled with Adam Parrish’s. Adam’s breath is warm and humid against Ronan’s neck and it should be disgusting but it’s not. It’s just a reminder, a reminder of what happened last night and the potential that lays before them. Ronan wants more mornings like this. He watches Adam blearily rub his face against Ronan’s chest and when Adam blinks sleepily up at him, there’s warmth expanding in his chest. It’s a feeling that Ronan didn’t think he’d ever feel again anywhere that wasn’t on stage.

“Mornin’” Adam says, around a yawn, voice thick with sleep still. _Yes,_ Ronan thinks, he wants a whole lifetime of mornings like this one.

Ronan shifts around until he can kiss Adam’s lips. His own mouth feels sticky and the kiss tastes bad, but it’s Adam, and Ronan couldn’t care less.

Adam scrunches up his nose though, and says, “Morning breath.” But he moves back in to kiss Ronan again anyway. Ronan wants to stay here all day, fuck their obligations.

“What time is it?” Adam asks, as he breaks away from the kiss.

Reluctantly, Ronan rolls away from Adam to find his phone on the floor. “9:45. Ish,” he tells him.

Adam swears, hard, and scrambles out of the bed. “I said I’d be at Fox Way at ten,” he says as he fumbles around in his bag, pulling out a pair of jeans and shoving his sweatpants away.

“Oh. Yeah. Fuck.” Obligations.

The thought of a lifetime of mornings like this, a fragile thought already, wobbles and shatters. Ronan’s still lying in bed and as he watches Adam get dressed, he thinks about how this is what their relationship will be. Always one of them watching the other leave. It’s not too late, he could walk away now. Nothing’s really happened, and walking away now could be easy, he tells himself. Doesn’t believe it though. There’s no walking away from this now, maybe there never was. Adam’s been living in his mind since he first saw him at the label party, hell, since he saw him in that YouTube video.

“I’ll drive you,” Ronan says. He swings out of bed and finds his discarded jeans.

“Hey,” Adam says and when Ronan looks up, Adam’s standing right in front of him. Adam skims his fingers across Ronan’s jaw and kisses him again. Ronan lets his jeans fall out of his hand again.

“Fuck, do you really have to go?” Sounding desperate is the least of Ronan’s concerns.

“If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t. Believe me. But we’ve got a local radio interview, soundcheck and Blue wants to do an Instagram live. And I need a shower.”

“You can shower here.” He doesn’t say _with me,_ but Adam hears it anyway.

“That is incredibly tempting.” Adam’s hands have crept down Ronan’s back and one skims across his ass. “But, I really do have to go.”

Ronan knows he doesn’t form attachments to people easily, but when he does, they’re deep. He’s surprised at how quickly and how deeply he’s got Adam ingrained. It’s only ever going to get harder to hear him say he’s got to go.

*

The drive to Fox Way is too quick, in Adam’s opinion. When they stop outside, Ronan looks morosely at the building, like he’s holding it responsible for Adam having to go and do his job.

“Ronan,” Adam says. Ronan turns to him, sharp grin back in place, looking unaffected, like he’d never looked anything else. Adam sees through it. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll be wearing my I heart Adam Parrish t-shirt,” he says, sarcastically.

Adam grins. “You better be.”

Adam moves to get out of the car, but Ronan catches his arm before he can. Adam doesn’t worry if anyone inside Fox Way is watching out the window. He kisses Ronan like he’s the last drink of water he’ll get before he crosses a desert.

“Get going, Parrish,” Ronan says, when he comes up for air.

Adam nods, and gets out the car. As he’s walking away from the BMW, he hears Ronan call his name. Adam turns back to him.

“Here,” Ronan says, and he throws something through the air to Adam through the car window. It’s silver and the sunlight glances off it, casting little dancing lights as it flies through the air. Adam catches it in mid-air, and it clinks as his fist closes around it. It’s a bunch of keys. “Next time you’re on a break. Don’t sleep in the damn locker. See you.”

Adam wants to argue, doesn’t want to accept this, but Ronan’s already driven off. Adam watches the BMW screech off down the road and pockets the keys. He won’t use them, he’ll give them back to Ronan tonight.

The front door to Fox Way has opened behind him and Blue is leaning against the door frame. She’s wearing her oversized Beatles shirt and an unimpressed expression.

“Was that Lynch?” she asks. Adam raises an eyebrow at her and slides past her into the house. “You spent the night with him?”

“Obviously.”

“You’re staying here tonight though, right? You said you would.” Blue’s looking imploringly at him and Adam forgot that he said he would, said he’d spend the night at Fox Way before they leave for tour tomorrow morning.

“Yeah, of course.” He smiles at Blue, but Adam wants to bang his head against a wall. 

“So, your fucked up attitude to dating where you don’t form attachments isn’t really working out for you, is it?”

“You think you’re so fucking funny.” Adam hates it when she’s right.

“Watch your language you two,” Calla calls from the kitchen. “You’re not rock stars in this house!”

Adam and Blue roll their eyes at each other in response, and it makes Blue laugh. Adam’s relieved that they’re not fighting.

“I need a shower,” he says, and heads up to the bathroom.

Adam’s halfway up the stairs when he hears Blue say, “You do. And a shave!”

Adam pauses. “I don’t tell you what to do with your body hair.”

“My body hair doesn’t grow out of my face.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?”

Blue shrieks in outrage at him and Adam runs for it. He slams the door of the bathroom behind him and he can hear her giggling on the other side of it. “You’re such a shit,” she laughs through it.

*

Page of Cups are about to begin the biggest tour they’ve been on so far, playing larger venues and travelling on an actual tour bus with an actual team. Ronan’s been touring like that for years now, but Adam’s been all full of nervous excitement when he talks about it, so Ronan tries to be supportive. He very carefully doesn’t say _so what? Been there, done that,_ like he wants to. Personal growth, he thinks.

Ronan’s got hours to kill around Henrietta before he needs to be at the venue, but he can’t even text Adam to entertain him. He’s too busy with soundcheck, and promotional stuff. Ronan sits in Monmouth, with Gansey and they watch Adam roll his eyes on Instagram Live while Sargent talks about how “intimate” the show is going to be and how “thrilled they are to have their family there” and “how great it is to be able to start the tour from their home town.” Ronan wonders if the fans notice Adam’s eye rolling and grimacing. They probably don’t; Adam ParrishTM is exceptionally good at hiding his emotions, and Sargent commands more attention on the tiny screen than he does.

The venue is, actually, quite intimate. It’s an old theatre, with a tiny stage, draped with velvety curtains and lined with vintage spotlights. It’s a completely sold out show, and Ronan knows that every single person is going to feel like they’re sat right on the stage with Parrish and Sargent tonight. It reminds him of the shows that Nightwash used to perform, back when they were barely adults, playing in tiny club basements and people’s garages, packed to the rafters with people, no stage and the only space around the band, the space they could carve out for themselves from the crowd. There was a buzz at those shows, an energy that felt like they stood on the precipice of something great and every single person there wanted a piece of it. To be able to say, _“I saw them before_.”

There’s a buzz like that here tonight, at the Page of Cups show. Ronan hates to admit it, but he understands why.

Backstage is swarming with people. Blue seems to have about a million family members, all of them women, and all of them _there._ He thinks one of her cousins was trying to flirt with him, but Cheng swoops in instead, all charm and smiles. He wonders if any member of Adam’s family is here. But then, ‘ _I don’t speak to my parents’_ and ‘ _they’d never have done something like that’_ don’t exactly scream supportive family.

From where he’s quietly observing in the corner though, he realises how Sargent’s Mom and the other members of her family treat Adam like he’s one of them too, like he’s their son as much as Sargent is their daughter. He wonders if Adam notices, if he knows. He probably wouldn’t be sleeping in a storage unit if he did.

He only gets a second to say anything to Adam before they go on.

“Don’t fuck it up, Parrish,” he says, as Adam’s sorting his in-ears out. Ronan wonders whether the left one is even connected to anything, or if it’s a dud that Adam wears for appearances.

“Wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction,” he smirks. Ronan wants to kiss him, but there’s not time, or privacy.

Ronan flips him off instead, and Adam shoots him a wide, brilliant smile before he heads off towards the stage.

The show, as Ronan suspected it would be, is incredible. The music fills the venue completely and it echoes inside of Ronan, makes all the hollow places inside him ache. For what, he doesn’t quite know, but on the couple of occasions Adam makes eye contact with him, he thinks he’s close to knowing.

Sometimes, it feels like he’s singing right to Ronan only, even when he’s not looking. He wonders if everyone else in the venue feels the same. Other times, it’s as if he and Sargent have forgotten there’s an audience there at all. They laugh with each other and jam like they’re in their rehearsal space, just messing around.

There’s a point where they’re playing riffs back and forth to each other, like a conversation, and it reminds Ronan so strongly of being on the tour bus, in the middle of the night, with Gansey, that he has to turn him. Gansey’s already looking back, grinning at Ronan like he’s thinking the same. He bumps his knuckles against Gansey’s shoulder and something warm and content settles in him.

When the show ends, they’re all backstage again and everyone’s excited, congratulating Adam and Blue on the set and talking loudly about celebrating. Ronan thinks it’s probably time to collect his bandmates and herd them somewhere he hopefully won’t have to watch everyone get drunk without him. He’s feeling bereft and bitter and he just wants the warm feeling from before to come back.

He's looking for Gansey, so he doesn’t notice that Adam has extracted himself from his family, until he’s making loaded eye contact with him. Adam gestures to Ronan to follow him and then Ronan’s following him down a dark corridor.

“Parrish?”

“Shut up,” Adam says, then pushes Ronan up against a wall and kisses him hard.

Ronan makes a startled noise into Adam’s mouth and Adam pulls back sharply.

“Oh fuck,” he says.

“No, no, that wasn’t a bad noise. You just took me by surprise.”

“Took you by surprise? Do you not remember last night?”

“Fuck, of course I do.” Ronan would very much like to get back to kissing Adam. “Do you have any idea how badly I want you?”

“If it’s anything like as badly as I want you…” He trails off, his hands are running up and down Ronan’s sides, bunching his shirt as they move so his hands catch on bare skin. It makes heat pool low in his stomach. Adam Parrish wants him. It’s something he knew already, but this explicit confirmation is intoxicating.

Adam’s hands are back on Ronan’s chest, and his mouth is back against Ronan’s. This time, Ronan doesn’t make any noise, just kisses back, soft and slow. It’s the complete opposite of the hard and desperate kisses he’s thought about giving Adam but when he gently licks against Adam’s lower lip, it makes Adam groan and slide his hands up to Ronan’s neck. Ronan’s got his hands on Adam’s waist, but he trails one down to cup his ass and the other up to feather through the short hair on the back of his head.

Or he would do that if Adam weren’t so sweaty.

“No offense Parrish, I’m enjoying this a lot, but you really need a shower, man.”

Adam laughs. “People keep saying shit like that to me today. I really wanted to do that first though.”

“And I wish you’d showered first. Go. Maybe I’ll let you do it again when you’re not so disgusting.”

“I certainly hope so,” Adam says, darkly.

*

Ronan ends up getting dragged along to some bar in Henrietta, with his band and Sargent and Adam, and a whole load of their family members. He only goes because of Adam. He wants to kiss Adam again, wants to do a lot more to Adam than kiss him.

Adam’s looking at him across the room like he’s thinking the same thing. Ronan leaves the bar and slips out into the alleyway out back. He doesn’t have to look back to know Adam’s followed him.

As soon as Adam’s out the door, Ronan presses him up against the brick wall. These kisses are hard and desperate, teeth biting into lips and tongues sliding sinfully into mouths. It’s nothing like anything that’s come before between them and sparks fly behind Ronan’s eyelids. Adam’s thigh pushes between Ronan’s and it feels so good. Ronan kisses and bites along Adam’s jaw and down his throat. There’s a point, just beneath the corner of Adam’s jaw and when Ronan bites down on it, Adam moans, deep and ragged.

He can feel Adam hard against his thigh. The thought sends a jolt of electricity through him. It’s yet more proof that Adam _wants_ him, just as much as he wants Adam. He grinds down against Adam’s thigh, hopes Adam can feel where he’s hard.

Adam’s panting hard into his ear, and he inhales. Ronan’s ready to hear Adam tell him all the dirty things he’s thinking, but instead he says, “I’m leaving at 7am, from Fox Way.”

“What?” Ronan’s breathing hard too and he can’t focus on anything that isn’t Adam’s kiss-swollen, red mouth.

“I can’t stay with you tonight. I need to go to back to Fox Way to be ready to go at 7am. I’m sorry.”

Adam’s meaning cuts through the rush in his head. “Fuck, it’s okay. I don’t wanna rush this.”

“You mean you don’t want to fuck in a dirty alleyway behind a bar? Some rockstar you are.” Adam laughs and then kisses the retort off of Ronan’s lips. “We could go to your car?”

Ronan groans and steps back from Adam. He can’t believe he’s actually about to say what he’s going to say, but, “I don’t wanna do that.”

Adam frowns. “You don’t…?”

“I don’t…” Ronan looks away from Adam, down to the end of the alleyway that opens onto the darkened street. For all that he’s said to Adam already, he can’t look at him when he says this. “I really don’t want to mess this up. I do so much stupid shit and fuck things up. I don’t wanna fuck this up. And fucking in my car, the night before you leave for tour, just feels…” It feels dirty, and not in a hot way. In a _Ronan Lynch doing everything wrong, just like everyone expects of him_ way.

“Hey,” Adam says, softly. He reaches out and turns Ronan’s face back to him with gentle fingers on his jaw. His eyes are clear and calm. “That’s okay. You won’t. I don’t want to fuck this up either. And I won’t let you, if you don’t let me. If you need to go slower with this, then that’s fine with me.” Then he laughs a bit. “We’re both on tour though, so I don’t think we’ll get much choice.”

Ronan nods. Adam won’t let him fuck up. “We’ll be in the same cities on tour, at some point, yeah?”

And then Adam starts reeling off dates and cities so quickly that even if Ronan knew his own tour schedule, he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

“Fuck, do you have all that memorised?”

“Yes.” Adam’s looking at him like _Ronan’s_ the weird one. “Do you not know your tour dates? How do you know where to be?”

Ronan shrugs. “I just do what I’m told.”

And then Adam gives him a dark look that makes Ronan feel hot all over. “Is that something you do often?”

“Depends who’s doing the telling.”

Adam’s smirking dangerously, and Ronan thinks he’s going to continue on this vein. His mind is reeling with the possibilities of all the things Adam could tell him to do. He’s suddenly desperate for Adam, Adam’s words, Adam’s touch. They’re still stood pressed against each other in the alley and Ronan wants to get back to the making out right now. Suddenly saying no to going to car sounds like the worst idea Ronan’s ever had. He’s feeling seriously conflicted.

Adam simply says, “Give me your phone.”

Ronan hands it to him, but—

“It’s dead, Lynch.”

“Fuck.”

Adam sighs and then opens his own phone. “I’m going to assume that you don’t know your own phone number.” _Of course not,_ Ronan’s raised eyebrow says, so Adam continues, “So I’m going on Twitter and I’m sending you a DM with my number. Charge your phone, save my number, text me and then _delete the message._ ”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Jesus Parrish, no one wants your phone number.”

“Oh, I won’t send this then. Have fun with your right hand alone on tour. I guess I’ll see you at the label Christmas party in, ooh, nine months’ time.”

“Asshole. Send the damn message.”

*

Gansey: Loved the @pageofcupsband show in #Henrietta last night. Great music by great people! @mynameisblue @thenparrish good luck on your tour!

Ronan Lynch: @gansey3 @mynameisblue @thenparrish they’re gonna need it.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch you’re such a bastard

Adam Parrish: thanks @gansey3! Enjoy the rest of your tour too, see you in Miami

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish suck my dick

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch no.

Gansey: @fakeronanlynch Ronan, we’ve talked about this

Adam Parrish: @gansey3 @fakeronanlynch I sincerely hope not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you weren’t expecting them to actually get to bang in that chapter lol Feel free to come yell at me about it on Tumblr! Delayed gratification guys!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A: You’re in Philadelphia and I’m in Baltimore, in 5 days. Two hour drive between them?  
> Then there’s a string of emojis, including an aubergine and Ronan still hasn’t worked out quite what they mean. 5 days though. That’s far sooner than he’d thought it could be.  
> R: Pls translate hieroglyphics  
> A: Can’t believe you can be bothered to type out hieroglyphics but not the word please.  
> R: Can’t believe ur trying to seduce me with emojis. Ur so romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who’s left a comment or kudos so far!  
> Disclaimer: I am not American, nor have I ever been to America. My geography of the United States is poor. The thing I have researched more than anything for this fic so far is travel times between cities. And I actually made an excel sheet of fake tour schedules, that's how committed I am lol.  
> Also, I'm going back to work tomorrow so there's likely to be a decrease in the rate at which I'm writing chapters.
> 
> Special thanks to [Tea](https://ephemeraltea.tumblr.com/) for the beta read last night!! 
> 
> Anyway, important stuff. This fic is about to earn its explicit rating… Enjoy!! ;)

A: _Philadelphia?_

It’s a one-word text from Adam and something about the question it poses makes Ronan feel jittery. It’s only been a few days since Henrietta, since Adam left him standing outside the bar. The days have been non-stop, like they always are on tour. Ronan’s travelled so far and crammed so much in that it feels like it’s been weeks not days. But the text from Adam brings it all back in a rush and he can feel the memory of his kiss on his lips.

Adam has a show in Boston tonight and Nightwash are playing Toronto. They’ll be in Boston too, in three days, but Adam will be long gone by then. Ronan had considered how much it was going to suck constantly having to watch Adam leave, but if anything, trailing across the country, always one city and a few days behind him is worse.

Ronan sends back a string of questions marks and in reply he gets:

A: _You’re in Philadelphia and I’m in Baltimore, in 5 days. Two hour drive between them?_

Then there’s a string of emojis, including an aubergine and Ronan still hasn’t worked out quite what they mean. 5 days though. That’s far sooner than he’d thought it could be.

R: _Pls translate hieroglyphics_

A: _Can’t believe you can be bothered to type out hieroglyphics but not the word please._

R: _Can’t believe ur trying to seduce me with emojis. Ur so romantic._

A: _I’ll bring you flowers in Philadelphia. Are you busy?_

R: _No, I’m only in soundcheck._

A: 🙄 _Call me when you’re done._

Ronan’s been smiling like an idiot at his phone all day and he knows Gansey has noticed. Ronan’s never paid this much attention to it before, but he thinks it’s hardly suspicious behaviour; it’s a phone.

“Are you actually texting someone?” Gansey finally asks. Every time Ronan gets a break from testing sound levels, he checks his phone. Maybe it is a little suspicious.

“Sex line!” shouts Noah.

“You can’t text a sex line,” Ronan says.

“You would know,” Noah smirks. Ronan flicks a guitar pick at him.

“Who are you texting though?” Gansey is apparently not going to drop this.

Ronan doesn’t lie, so he says, “Parrish.”

“I was right then,” Noah says. Ronan ignores him.

“Oh!” Gansey says. “How is their tour going? Tell them I said hello.” Of course, Ronan mentions Adam, Gansey immediately thinks of Blue.

“I will not,” Ronan says, and then starts strumming the intro to the next song on their set list.

After soundcheck is over, Ronan secretes himself in an empty room, backstage in the arena, and calls Adam.

“Hey,” Adam says, and Ronan’s disgusted by his own reaction to Adam’s voice. It’s the first time he’s spoken to Adam since Henrietta though, and he uses that as justification for the stupid grin on his face and the knots in his stomach. “I just need to get somewhere quiet.”

Ronan imagines Adam in a similar situation to him, but they’re playing a much smaller venue, so empty rooms are likely to be in short supply. “Were you busy?”

“No, Blue’s doing some interview about women in music and I’ve been left to my own devices.”

“Dangerous.”

Adam snorts. “For the first time in a long time, and the only time for a while I imagine.”

It’s Ronan’s turn to snort. “You imagine? Like you don’t know. The way I hear it, you’re still trying to be your own manager.”

“Who have you been talking to me about?”

“No one, if I can help it. The less I hear about you and your terrible band, the better.”

Ronan hears the sound of a tour bus door snapping shut. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lynch.”

“So… Philadelphia?” Nothing like a direct approach, Ronan thinks.

“If it doesn’t work for you, it’ll be Miami, but we only overlap there for three hours. I was thinking about what you said in Henrietta, if you want we can wait until then?”

 _I don’t want our first time together to be in my car in Henrietta, but sure three hours in the back of a tour bus in Miami is fine._ “We’ll make Philadelphia work.”

“We’ve got a show on the 10th, but we arrive in the morning on the 9th. There are some radio interviews scheduled, but then we have a free afternoon and evening. I’ll come to Philadelphia then?”

“Or I could come to you.”

“You can’t, you’re playing Philadelphia and then you leave for Atlanta at something like 7am.”

“You’ve really researched this. Can’t manage your band anymore so now you’re managing our sex life?” He means it as a joke, but Adam misinterprets.

“I thought you wanted to make this work? This is how we make it work. If you really don’t want me to come, then I won’t.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Parrish?” Clearly, Ronan has fucked up and failed to communicate to Adam just how badly he wants this.

“You said you wanted to take it slow. And I’m tryna respect that, but I also really want to see you. Miami is slow. Philadelphia is… not as slow.”

Ronan groans. He wants to travel back in time and shake himself. Make his past self tell Adam the real reason he didn’t want to fuck in the car. “Miami is a three hour overlap that’s not even guaranteed. That’s taking it real fucking slow.”

“Hmm. The only other option is after you finish your tour. In eight weeks.”

“Jesus, fuck that. I want to see you too. Come to fucking Philadelphia,” Ronan says. He hopes that’s the end of whatever stupid argument they almost had. Adam doesn’t reply though and for a while, Ronan doesn’t do anything but sit and listen to Adam’s gentle breathing. He can tell he’s thinking something through.

Ronan’s on the verge of asking what the fuck he’s thinking about, when Adam finally says, “I won’t get there in time to have my ear assaulted by Evening Shower.” There’s a grin in his voice and it evaporates the tension Ronan still feels.

“You sound really torn up about it. I knew you were secretly a fan,” Ronan replies.

Adam’s voice drops lower in tone. “Fan of watching you get all sweaty and intense.”

“Maybe you’ll get a private show of that,” Ronan says, matching Adam’s tone. Adam’s breath catches and Ronan braces for the next devastatingly sexy thing Adam’s going to say but then someone hammers on the door to the room he’s hiding in.

“Ronan!” It’s Gansey. “Time to get ready!”

Reluctantly, Ronan says goodbye to Adam and follows Gansey back through the venue to get changed for the show. Before he goes on though, he checks his phone one more time. There’s a text from Adam.

A: _Miami wouldn’t work. That’s not enough time for everything I want to do to you._

*

Adam’s phone is ringing. It’s loud in the tiny space of his bunk, but it’s got lost in the sheets. It takes him a while to find it and when he does, he doesn’t even look at who’s calling before he answers. “Hello Mr Parrish.” Adam winces. It’s PR Nancy.

“Hi, Ms Jones.” He hopes he sounds polite, and not anxious and pissed off.

“I hope you’re well,” Nancy says, in that sharp way that tells Adam she doesn’t actually care. Adam goes to reply, but she’s still talking. “I hear that you’re visiting Philadelphia with your time off.”

Adam swallows. Here it comes. Adam had sorted the trip out with Mr Gray, but he’s sure Nancy has more authority to stop him.

“I think it’s a great idea, and I’m glad that you’ve decided to take my suggestion of being friends with Mr Lynch and Nightwash seriously.”

Adam almost drops his phone. “You do?” That had not been what he was expecting her to say.

“Yes. Now, Mr Gray has managed to shift around some of the interviews you had scheduled in Baltimore and now they’ll all be happening on the 9th. It’ll mean you can’t leave for Philadelphia until later, but you’ll have more time there the next day.”

Adam wonders where she’s going with this. She can’t know his real reason for going to Philadelphia. Even if she did, she wouldn’t be trying to schedule _more_ time for Adam to have sex. Would she? Maybe she thinks he’s been looking like he needs it. He’s not going to question it; not when things are heading somewhere Adam likes.

Something doesn’t add up though. “I thought Nightwash were leaving for Atlanta early in the morning?”

“Their schedule has been adjusted.” She doesn’t elaborate on this, like it’s not Adam’s business. He supposes it probably isn’t. “I’ve discussed this with Mr Gray and with Nightwash’s management and we all agree that it will be good for building up your fan base and for creating more promotional buzz for the recent album releases and tours for both bands.”

“Um, what will?” Adam’s changed his mind, he doesn’t like where this is headed any more.

“The publicity, Mr Parrish. Social media has been awash with speculation about the bromance between you and Mr Lynch.”

 _Bromance?_ Adam has to bite the inside of cheek to stop himself from laughing. He thinks about Ronan pressing him up against the brick wall in Henrietta, thinks about feeling Ronan’s hard cock against his thigh, waking up with his head on Ronan’s chest. _Sure, bromance._

Nancy’s still talking though. “And while you’re in Philadelphia, I’ve arranged for a photographer to capture some images of the two of you, getting coffee. Being “ _bros.”_ Whatever you feel like doing.”

“Paparazzi? Seriously?” He hears Blue’s voice telling him, ‘ _maybe I don’t want my relationship turned into a PR stunt.’_ This is going to happen either way. It’s better, he thinks, that it’s him and Ronan faking a friendship, rather than Gansey and Blue’s actual relationship, that’s used for PR. He can get a few pictures taken for her.

“Don’t sound so shocked, Mr Parrish. It’s common PR tactic, not as seedy as you’re making it sound. Page of Cups is gaining media notoriety and associating yourselves closely with other, more established bands will only be beneficial for your career.”

She’s speaking sense, but it doesn’t mean Adam likes it. Still, he gets more time with Ronan. Just because that time won’t be in a hotel room, doesn’t make it bad.

“Okay, if Ronan agrees to this as well, I’ll do it.” She’ll have to get Ronan to take her call first.

“Thank you, Mr Parrish. Enjoy your time in Philadelphia.”

 _Oh, I will,_ thinks Adam.

*

It’s the middle of night, and they left Montreal two hours ago, but that doesn’t mean Ronan actually knows how far away from Boston they are. Gansey’s in the back lounge and he’s got his acoustic guitar on his lap. The song he’s playing is familiar to Ronan, but it’s not one of theirs. He can’t figure out what it is. Ronan’s own acoustic is right there but he doesn’t pick it up, just sits on the rough bench seat opposite Gansey. The back lounge smells like mint, from the plant Gansey keeps in there. The smell is stronger than normal, Gansey’s chewing a leaf as he plays.

“Is everything okay?” Gansey asks, but he doesn’t look up from the guitar. “Because you’re acting kind of funny.”

“Fuck you, I am not,” Ronan says, without any heat.

Gansey frowns. He’s wearing his wire-frames and the frown makes them slide down his nose. He puts his guitar down and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Shoot. Is this about what happened at Monmouth?”

“Nothing happened at Monmouth. Are you still trying to grow a beard? I think you might have to accept that if it hasn’t happened post-puberty, it’s never going to happen.”

“I think it’s filling out. It’s definitely coarser than it used to be. And I know that my facial hair isn’t the problem.”

“Maybe it should be. I admire the optimism. You should keep trying, I’m sick of being the only one in this band capable of facial hair.”

“Ronan. Is this about how you’re seeing Adam?”

Ronan doesn’t have any reason to feel squirmy about this. He’s not doing anything he shouldn’t be. There are far worse things that he’s done, and he’s not felt this way about Gansey knowing any of them. He looks at the mint plant, contemplates how it’s probably the most well-travelled mint plant in the world. And finally, he swallows and says, “It might be.”

“You could’ve told me you were going to Monmouth with him. I wouldn’t have just turned up.”

“It’s not like I planned it out! And why would I tell you I was going there when I thought you were still in DC? You didn’t seem that surprised he was there.”

“Well, I knew something was going on, after all that time you spent with him in DC. I’m not stupid, Ronan. Either you were doing drugs with Adam or you were—” Gansey makes a weird hand gesture. Ronan translates it to mean something vaguely sexual. “--with Adam. I assumed the latter because I have faith in you.”

“No, you assumed the latter because you know Adam doesn’t do drugs.”

“And because I have faith in you. Two reasons. Well three, you’ve not exactly been subtle.” He pauses for a while, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb. “I did tell you Twitter was public.”

“It’s been pointed out to me, yes.” Maybe Ronan should’ve never bothered with social media. He changes the subject before he has to concede this. “Anyway, what were you doing in Henrietta the day before you needed to be there?”

Gansey looks guilty, just as squirmy as Ronan had felt a few minutes ago. “Gansey. Is this about how you’re seeing Sargent?”

Gansey laughs and picks his guitar back up. “It might be,” he says and then he plays the song he’d been playing before again. Ronan recognises it now, it’s _Blue Lily, Lily Blue._

“I hate that band,” Ronan says.

Gansey laughs again and says, “I’m not sure anyone believes you anymore,” and keeps playing.

*

Ronan might still hate Page of Cups, but he loves Philadelphia. He loves it because it’s two hours away from Baltimore and he loves Baltimore because that’s where Adam is. And he loves that Adam’s spending two hours on his motorcycle to come to Philadelphia to see Ronan. Ronan’s disgusted by his own internal monologue.

The show in Philadelphia is amazing. It’s probably the best show of their tour so far and Ronan never wants it to end. Except he does, because when it does, he gets to go back to his hotel room and he gets to be with Adam. The thought makes him even more excited, spurs him on to play louder, harder, jump around more. He feels like he used to, before his Dad died, when he first played live and he felt that pure, unadulterated rush of performing. He never wants to lose this feeling.

But the show has to end. Ronan focuses on holding on to the high, focuses on _I’m seeing Adam soon._ Not even the thought of the stupid little PR stunt they’ve got to do tomorrow can ruin his good mood.

When Gansey asks him if he’s going to come out with the band and the crew, he declines as casually as he can. “I’m just gonna go back to the hotel, watch a movie, you know.” 

Ronan raises his eyebrows, tries to communicate to Gansey not to shout about Adam coming. Or ask any questions.

“Oh!” Gansey’s doing his excited puppy impression. It’s been years and Ronan sometimes has no idea how people take Gansey seriously as the front man of a rock band. “Yes! Enjoy your… movie.”

“Yeah, I will. Have fun.” He’s not lying to Gansey; they could watch a movie. He just very much doubts that they will.

The rest of his band disappear off in a car to find a bar. Ronan doesn’t feel even a little bit jealous when he gets in a separate car with his security guy.

When they arrive at the hotel, there’s no one in the parking lot apart from a guy on a motorcycle who pulled in ahead of them.

When Ronan gets out of the car, he realises that it’s _Adam_ on the motorcycle. It’s not the same one he had back in the storage unit in Henrietta, but the reality of Adam on a motorcycle is as appealing as his imagination had predicted it would be. Adam swings off the bike and pulls his helmet off like he’s a supermodel in a cologne commercial and Ronan almost completely forgets that they’re out in public and that he’s a moderately famous person. He wants so badly to walk across the lot, push Adam against his bike, and kiss him until they’re both breathless and desperate. But he can’t. So instead, he goes and waits in the hotel lobby for his security to get room key cards.

Adam sidles up to him in the lobby. “Lynch,” he says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Parrish,” Ronan says, casually, despite the palpable tension. “Where are my flowers?”

“Couldn’t carry them. I’ll ship ‘em to you,” Adam replies, with a grin.

The tension only grows in the elevator. It’s become almost painful, to be stood so close to Adam and not be able to touch him. They’ve pushed into opposite corners of the elevator and the anticipation is almost too much.

Ronan watches Adam by looking at his reflection in the mirror. Adam’s watching him right back, looking at him directly rather than through the mirror. When Ronan flicks his eyes to Adam, rather than his reflection, Adam’s answering smirk is filthy.

*

Ronan considers how he’d thought that the slight Southern drawl that Adam sings with was an affectation. Something he put on, played up, to fit in with the country-folky vibe of their music. And when he learnt the truth, he figured that the accent had long been dropped from Adam’s regular speech, that he never spoke like it anymore. But the way Adam’s speaking now, low and so turned on, it’s like he can’t remember to clip his vowels, stop that Southern accent slide in like honey. Ronan’s never going to be able to listen to him sing again.

“Been thinking about this,” he pants into Ronan’s neck. They’re in Ronan’s hotel room, and from the moment they get through the door, it’s hot, hard kisses and hands under shirts, slamming into walls and grinding through jeans. He can’t keep his hands off of Adam, and the way Adam’s hands are sliding over Ronan’s hips, up his shirt or across his jaw, Adam’s having the same problem.

And then Adam says six words that cut right through the rush in Ronan’s head, six words that he’s going to remember for a long time. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck, yes. I want that, want to fuck you.”

It’s no surprise that it feels like everything is happening all at once. He’s got Adam pushed against the wall and is sucking a dark hickey high under his jaw. Adam’s got his hands around Ronan’s wrists, pinning him against a different wall, biting into his mouth. Ronan’s hands tangle in Adam’s hair, Adam’s tongue pushes into Ronan’s mouth. Adam bites down the column of Ronan’s neck, Ronan drags his hands down Adam’s sides and skims across his ass. Adam groans and grinds his hips against Ronan’s.

Adam’s wearing one of his fucking stupid vintage button ups and Ronan cannot be bothered with it, just pulls it up over Adam’s head. Adam doesn’t seem to care though, he’s barely free from the shirt before he’s undoing Ronan’s jeans and dragging them down his legs.

And then they’re both naked, and now there’s no chance of keeping their hands off each other. Ronan can’t even stop kissing him for long enough to fully appreciate naked Adam Parrish. This has already been the longest foreplay of Ronan’s life and he needs Adam _now._ Ronan wraps a hand around Adam’s cock and _fuck_ he has to look down, has to see.

Adam’s cock is perfect, just like the rest of him, and there’s a wet bead of precum gathered at the tip. Ronan slides his thumb over it, gathers up the wetness, lifts his thumb to his mouth and licks it off. Adam’s watching him with dark eyes, and Ronan recognises that look. He’s seen Adam look at him the same way before but this time there’s intent behind it. 

Adam reaches up and traces his thumb across Ronan’s bottom lip, almost following the path Ronan’s own thumb had just taken. He leans in and kisses Ronan again. It’s less urgent than before, it’s slow and deep, and when Adam’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip, then curls sinfully into his mouth, Ronan groans.

Adam pulls back, just a breath away from Ronan’s lips and breathes, “Yeah? You want it Lynch?”

Ronan snarls at him, grabs Adam’s hips hard with both hands and uses his grip to grind Adam’s cock against his. Adam tries to maintain his composure, but he chokes out a moan. Ronan wants that sound playing on repeat in his head for the rest of his life.

“I want you. Gonna give it to you so fucking hard,” Ronan tells him.

“Fuck, I know you will. I’ve thought about this so much.”

“Yeah? What have you thought about?” Ronan’s desperate to know. Wants to know every dirty thought Adam’s ever had about him, every scenario he’s thought about them being in. He wants to hear Adam telling him about it all, with his voice like dark molasses, and then he wants to do all of them, every single dirty thing Adam wants.

“There’s a bed over there. Should we get on it first?”

“Good thinking, Parrish.”

Adam drags his hands down and grabs two full handfuls of Ronan’s ass. “Then, I’ll tell you everything I’ve been thinking about doing to this ass, while you get me ready for your cock.”

Ronan can’t get on the bed fast enough. He’d feel self-conscious, about his eagerness, but Ronan’s never felt self-conscious a day in his life, and besides, Adam is right there too, kissing Ronan before his head hits the pillows.

They roll around on the bed and it’s a tangle of lips and limbs and Ronan forgets that there was a point to this, he’d be content to just grind his hips against Adam’s. He’d happily just rub off against Adam’s perfect, tanned skin, if that’s what Adam wanted him to do.

“Tell me you’ve got stuff,” Adam pants against his mouth. Ronan’s brain is so addled with arousal that he can’t figure out what Adam means for a second. The confusion must show on his face because Adam says, “Lube, Lynch. Condoms?”

Ronan rolls off the bed and he all but throws the lube at Adam when he finds it in his bag. He has to peel the cellophane off the condom box and when he turns back around with one his hand, he drops it on the floor in shock. Adam is reclined in the middle of the bed, his legs spread wide and one lubed up finger working into his ass.

“Fuck, Parrish.” Ronan crawls up on the bed, completely mesmerised by Adam’s hands, opening himself up

“Adam,” Adam says. He doesn’t sound bothered at all by his own ministrations.

“You say your own name during sex? Asshole.” Ronan’s very bothered.

“Fucker. I’m reminding you what my actual first name is, Lynch.”

Ronan nods. He wants to laugh, but nothing about the situation is funny anymore. Especially not when he puts his hand between Adam’s legs, slides a finger into him alongside Adam’s.

Adam keens at the sensation and pushes his hips down towards where their fingers meet inside him. Ronan scrambles for the lube and squeezes more out onto his fingers. Adam removes his finger and Ronan fucks a second finger in to replace it.

Ronan starts to fuck his two fingers deeper into Adam. “You gonna tell me what it is you want then Adam? What you’ve thought about?”

“Go faster,” he says instead. Ronan moves his hand faster, moves over Adam to kiss him hard.

Ronan twists his fingers and Adam cries out, throws his head back against the pillow. Ronan slows his hand again and adds more lube to the mess already accumulating at the crux of Adam’s thighs.

“Fuck. I’ve been thinking about this since your DC show.”

“Have you?” Ronan doesn’t know where to look, at Adam’s face or at where his fingers are disappearing inside him. They’re both equally captivating and he has to settle for flicking his gaze between them.

“You know what you look like on stage. You’re so goddamn intense. Watched you on stage, and all I could think about was how fucking good it was gonna be, when I got that all to myself.”

Ronan surges up and kisses Adam hard, can’t stop himself from needing to be as close to Adam as possible. Adam kisses him back, tongue and teeth. Ronan crooks his fingers, and Adam gasps against his mouth, breaking away from the kiss. Ronan moves his fingers slowly, repeats the same motion over and over.

Adam’s breathing hard, but he’s smiling through it, like he’s getting everything he wants all at once. He lifts his hand and traces his fingers across Ronan’s lips and it’s a slow, reverent motion, in stark contrast to the way Ronan’s fingers are rocking inside Adam. Ronan wants to keep that expression on his face, wants to keep giving him what he wants.

The look in Adam’s eyes turns wicked and dirty. He pushes two of his fingers in, past Ronan’s mouth. It’s Ronan’s turn to moan desperately, and he hollows his cheeks around the fingers Adam is sliding across his tongue.

“Want your cock now, Ronan,” Adam says and Ronan moans again as Adam’s fingers slide out of his mouth, leaving a messy trail across his chin.

“Yeah, I’ll give it to you. How do you want it?”

Adam frowns at him. “Hard? Oh.” And then he turns over, and Ronan’s presented with the long, tanned expanse of Adam’s back, ending in his fucking beautiful muscular ass.

Ronan lines his cock up and he slides all the way in one smooth thrust. Adam’s fisted both his hands in the pillows, and he groans hard when Ronan’s all the way inside him.

Then he clenches hard around Ronan’s cock, making him see stars.

“Adam, fucking hell.”

“Shit, yeah,” Adam grits out, as Ronan starts to thrust.

He goes slow at first, wants to give Adam chance to get used to it. But before long, Adam’s pushing back into his hard thrusts, his compact ass meeting Ronan’s hips with perfect rhythm. Ronan stills his hips, but Adam keeps moving, trying to follow his cock back, keep it inside him. Ronan stops him moving with a hand on his hip. He wraps his hand around his own cock and rubs the head against where Adam is slick and open. Adam fucking whines.

“Ronan,” he groans, twisting his head back over his shoulder to look at Ronan. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, his pupils are blown wide, and he looks fucking _gone._

Ronan smirks wickedly at him and slides just the very tip of his cock into Adam. “Come on Parrish, if you want it, take it.”

Adam groans again and drops his head between his shoulders and then he moves again, rocks his whole body back to take Ronan’s cock all the way inside him. Ronan watches all the muscles in his back shift and clench as he moves forward again. He watches Adam build up a rhythm, fucking himself hard on Ronan’s cock.

Ronan slides his hand up the sweat slicked, tanned expanse of Adam’s back and pulls his head back up with fingers around his jaw. Adam moans, loud and broken and fucks back even harder against Ronan.

“God, you’re gonna be so fucking sore tomorrow. How you gonna ride your motorcycle back? All you’ll be able to think of is how I fucked you,” Ronan grits out.

“Definitely the point,” Adam pants. “Wanna feel you for days. Thought you were gonna give it to me hard, Lynch.”

Ronan grits his teeth at that and slides both his hands down to dig his fingers hard into Adam’s hips, stilling his movement. He pulls his cock all the way out of Adam again, and then lines it back up. He slams deep into Adam with one powerful thrust, then he pistons his hips, repeating that motion over and over, pounding into the tight heat of Adam’s ass.

“Knew you’d be like this,” Adam says and if he can still talk in actual words, Ronan is clearly not fucking him hard enough. He needs more leverage.

He pulls out of Adam and climbs off the bed. Adam watches him with lust blown eyes.

“Come here,” Ronan says, and his voice is shot. Adam smirks at him, but he doesn’t comment as he knee-walks around to face Ronan on the bed. Ronan can’t help himself, pulls Adam in with a hand on the back of his neck to kiss his kiss-bitten lips. Kissing Adam is addictive, and that must mean it’s bad for him, but Ronan hasn’t figured out how yet.

Adam bites at his bottom lip and his nails drag paths of fire across the top of Ronan’s thighs. Ronan moans and kisses back hard and drags his own hands down Adam’s back. He pushes his fingers into the cleft of Adam’s ass, feels where he’s still slick and open for Ronan’s cock. Adam groans and drops his head on Ronan’s shoulder.

“Lie down,” he tells Adam. Ronan expects him to say something, or to fight back, but he doesn’t. He flops backwards on the bed, bouncing a little, and grinning filthily up at Ronan. He spreads his legs wide and Ronan has to close his eyes against the glorious view of Adam laid out before him.

Ronan grabs his hips and drags him forwards, until his ass is just hanging over the edge of the bed. He lifts Adam’s hips slightly, and when he slides his cock back into Adam, Adam moans long and loud. The changed angle must hit just right inside him, Adam’s face has gone slack with pleasure, flush spreading further down his chest.

“Fuck, Adam. That’s the best music I’ve heard you make.”

“Fuck you,” he grits out in return, but it sounds like the words required effort. Ronan snaps his hips forward, plants his feet firmly. He’s got one hand holding Adam’s thigh up, fingers digging into the muscle; the other hand on Adam’s hip, holding him down to the bed. He gets the leverage he needs to pound his hips into Adam. He keeps going, fucking in hard and fast while Adam pants desperately beneath him.

“You wanted it hard?” He asks. “Is this what you meant?” Ronan’s overwhelmed with how badly he wants to give Adam exactly what he wants; how much he needs to know that what he’s doing is what Adam wants of him.

Adam nods, and his free leg shifts, pulling Ronan closer to him. He’s watching Ronan with dark eyes, pupils blown so wide that there’s barely any blue left. Ronan plants his hands either side of Adam’s head instead, leans over him. Adam’s legs cross behind his back and his fingernails dig into Ronan’s shoulders. Ronan wants him to leave scratches down his back, knows it’s a fucking cliché but he doesn’t care, wants to leave this hotel room with reminders of Adam all over his body.

The way that Adam is looking at him is everything, nothing outside of this room, of this moment exists to Ronan anymore. He can feel that familiar tug low in his stomach that tells him he’s about to come and he wants Adam to be right there with him when he does. He wraps a hand around Adam’s perfect cock again, fucks harder into his ass and tells him, “Come on, Parrish, want to feel you come on my cock.”

Adam groans desperately and when he comes, Ronan lets go as well, the feeling of Adam pulsing and clenching around him pushing him over the edge.

*

Ronan settles back between Adam’s legs and Adam presses his forehead into the top of Ronan’s spine. He traces the hooks and swirls of Ronan’s tattoo with his fingertips, guitar callouses catching on sensitive skin.

“What you said in Henrietta. Did you mean it?” Ronan asks.

“I said a lot of things in Henrietta. You’re going to have to be more specific.” Adam presses his lips to the juncture of Ronan’s neck and shoulder.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Ronan’s not going to say it out loud. He leans his head back on Adam’s shoulder, gives Adam more space to bite and kiss the side of his neck and the corner of his jaw.

“Depends who’s doing the telling,” Adam quotes. Ronan doesn’t point out that that’s not exactly what Adam said, but then Adam hadn’t really said anything as explicit. “You want that then? Would you do what I told you?”

“Maybe. Not always. I’m a very difficult person.” He tips his head to smirk at Adam.

Adam snorts into his skin. “You don’t say. I hadn’t noticed.” One of his hands has snaked around to Ronan’s front and he’s playing with one of his nipples. Ronan’s hard again already, which he thinks is ridiculous. He’s literally only just fucked Adam.

“You don’t have to.”

“I definitely want to.” Adam’s other hand wraps around his cock and presses his lips to the shell of Ronan’s ear. “I think you want me to.”

“I admit nothing.” Maybe it’s just his sex-crazed brain talking, but he can’t think of a single thing he wouldn’t do for this man.

Adam’s thumb swipes across the head of his cock and Ronan twists around to straddle him and that effectively ends their conversation.

*

They actually do end up getting coffee, the next morning, despite Ronan’s suggestions that they should go “ _do something really stupid.”_ They get takeaway cups from Starbucks and wander to a park that a Cabeswater intern had sent Adam the name of.

“I don’t know how you can call Matthew’s band’s music ‘pop’ in such a dismissive way, like having commercial appeal is a bad thing,” Adam is saying. Potomac’s single had been playing in the coffee shop.

“Wait _you_ don’t think commercial appeal is a bad thing? I thought you only wrote your album for critics and pretentious hipsters? Besides, I don’t mean pop in a dismissive way. Commercial appeal isn’t the problem.”

Adam lets the comments about his album go. He’s more interested in Ronan’s take on the Top 40 than rehashing an old argument. “What is the problem then?”

“It’s inoffensive. Music is art, and art isn’t supposed to be inoffensive, it’s supposed to make people think. That’s the problem with half the shit on the radio these days. It’s not challenging,” Ronan says and he looks so serious. Adam wants to kiss him.

“Are you not proud of Matthew then?” he asks instead.

“Of course I am. Don’t ask stupid questions, Parrish. He went to college like Declan wanted, but instead of getting a normal job, he formed a band. I don’t care what music he makes, so long as it’s pissing off Declan.”

“How can you say something so ridiculously pretentious and then something so belligerently childish?” Adam teases.

"Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit." Ronan quotes, and _fuck,_ if that doesn’t make Adam’s stomach tie itself in knots.

 _Of mortal men, none is wise at all times,_ Adam translates in his head. “Or any of the time,” he says to Ronan. Ronan playfully shoves him. They’re in the park now, and Adam considers how this scene must look to outsiders.

“Do you know,” he says, conversationally. “I don’t think they could make this look any more like a date. I wasn’t at the show last night. Do they honestly think that people are going to believe I came to Philadelphia just to get coffee with you?”

“Of course you did. We’re BFFs, Parrish. Doesn’t matter that a month ago I called you an asshole on the radio, after you called my music unoriginal.”

“I still think that,” Adam mutters as he sips his coffee.

“And I still think you’re an asshole.” Ronan’s smirking at him again. “You might want to cover up that giant fucking hickey on your neck though. If anything’s gonna blow our cover, it’ll be that.”

Adam rubs his fingers over the mark on the side of his neck, like he can rub it off. He glowers at Ronan and thinks about how he’d fingered him in the shower that morning. About the noises Ronan made that had echoed around the little hotel bathroom, louder than the shower spray, as Adam twisted two fingers into his ass. Thinks about how he came all over the shower wall, Adam’s name on his lips.

“Where even is this guy?” Adam asks. He wants to make sure he can keep the photographer on the hickey-less side of him. Ronan crosses over to a park bench and he plants his feet on the seat and sits on the back of it. Adam sits next to him, on the actual seat part because he’s a normal human being.

“On your left,” Ronan says, but he keeps looking straight ahead.

Adam turns to look, but Ronan grabs his arm before he can. “Don’t look! Jesus, Parrish. Have you never done this before?”

“Um, no. Have you?”

Ronan doesn’t answer right away. He looks down at his coffee cup, contemplating it. “Spent half my childhood doing shit like this.” Ronan takes a long drink from the cup and the slam-dunks it into the trash can next to the bench.

“That’s kind of...” Adam doesn’t want to say it’s fucked up.

Ronan looks down at him and raises a razor sharp eyebrow. “Fucked up? You can say it’s fucked up.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Wouldn’t’ve cared if you had.” He sounds kind of sad, and as much as Adam wants to ask more, about what it was like growing up with a rock star for a father, he doesn’t think now is the right moment.

“What do we do?” He asks, instead.

“Pretend we don’t hate each other.”

“I’m not a good enough actor for that.”

“Just ignore him. Don’t look at the camera.” Ronan stands up on the bench and nudges Adam’s thigh with one of his boots. “Think about something else.”

Adam rolls his eyes. Ronan steps heavily off the bench. Adam thinks about this morning again, about how when they were still wet from the shower, Ronan had knelt in front of him in the bathroom and sucked Adam’s cock, icy blue eyes on Adam’s the whole time.

Ronan’s looking at him now, like he knows exactly what Adam’s thinking. “I really want to kiss you.”

Adam snorts. “Then it really will look like a date. I want that too though.”

Ronan’s watching him and Adam thinks he’s actually going to kiss him, paparazzi be damned. Instead, Ronan says, “This is bullshit. We’re not doing this again. We’re not doing this in Miami. If that woman calls you again, tell her to fuck off.”

Adam laughs. He knows he’s grinning like an idiot at Ronan, but the way he’s ranting is so unexpected, it’s really entertaining. “I’m not gonna tell her that.”

“You should. I will. We might not even get three hours in Miami, I’m not spending them pretending to be _friends,_ when I could spend them doing something worthwhile.”

“I’m worthwhile, am I?” Adam feels smug. Ronan walks up to where Adam’s still sat on the bench. He stands almost between Adam’s knees, and Adam tilts his head back to look up at him. Adam considers how this position probably looks considerably more intimate than the image they want to create.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Ronan says, his voice low.

“Hmm, too late.” Adam smirks and reclines on the bench, stretching his legs out wider.

“Asshole,” Ronan says, but he’s grinning as he says it. Adam wants to kiss him so badly.

Ronan’s looks disdainfully around the park. Adam watches his face as his eyes catch on something. Then Ronan lifts a hand and gives a lazy, two-fingered salute.

“Photographer’s gone. Time’s up, Parrish,” he says. And then despite the fact that they are still very much in public, Ronan fists his hands in the lapels of Adam’s jacket and pulls him in to kiss him.

“I’ll see you in Miami?” Adam says, when they break from the kiss.

“And then after that?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to manage our sex life.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t being serious.”

I don’t know.” Adam sighs. He’s got his own Latin quote for this moment. “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.”

“Nice,” Ronan says, and kisses Adam again.

*

_Handstheneyes: @Pynchofcups have you seen the photos of them in Philadelphia_ _???_

_Ronsey5eva: @Handstheneyes @Pynchofcups Please. It’s a cover up. It’s a fake relationship to promote Page of Cups and the new Nightwash album._

_Pynchofcups: @Ronsey5eva @Handstheneyes How can you say that??? Look at them!!!_

_Ronsey5eva: @Handstheneyes @Pynchofcups Publicity stunt. It’s textbook. Ronsey is real._

_Handstheneyes: @Ronsey5eva @Pynchofcups Why would they use a gay relationship to “cover up” another gay relationship?_

_Ronsey5eva: @Handstheneyes @Pynchofcups Because Gansey isn’t out! Obviously. Haven’t you read my Ronsey thesis???_

_Handstheneyes: @Ronsey5eva @Pynchofcups Wow._

_Pynchofcups: @Handstheneyes Anyway. Adam’s got a hickey in that photo. They can say they’re only friends but. Hickey._

_Ronsey5eva: @Handstheneyes @Pynchofcups They’re just trying to distract you from the truth by getting you to ship Ronan with Adam Parrish! He could’ve gotten that hickey anywhere. It’s Adam Parrish._

_Pynchofcups: @Ronsey5eva You’re clearly not a Page of Cups stan._

Adam knows that he should definitely not be reading fan tweets about him and Ronan, but they come up in his mentions often enough. If they didn’t want him to see, surely they’d talk about it somewhere he wouldn’t be able to see. It’s not like Adam goes trawling through Tumblr or fan forums for stuff about himself. He texts Ronan about it.

A: _I think one of your fans just implied I was a slut on Twitter._

R: _Was it one of the ones who thinks me and Gansey are together?_

A: _Yeah. I don’t think they like me._

R: _They don’t. Who can blame them? You’re coming between us._

There’s a dirty joke there, and Adam starts to type it out, but it just makes him feel shitty. Instead, he scrolls back up through Twitter, to where there’s a collection of photos of him and Ronan in Philadelphia.

For all that Adam had pointed out it would look like they were on date, they actually don’t. If Adam didn’t know better, he’d say they were just photos of two friends walking through a park. Even the photo where Ronan’s stood between Adam’s spread legs isn’t that bad; they’re both laughing. Adam remembers thinking about kissing Ronan a lot in that park, but none of the pictures betray that. It’s context that makes it incriminating.

Adam’s phone buzzes again with a Twitter notification. Ronan’s tweeted.

Ronan Lynch: Aut viam inveniam aut faciam. The only options I ever had.

Adam rolls his eyes, but he texts his reply privately.

A: “ _Not everything I tweet is aimed at you Parrish” Oh how quickly things change._

R: _Rude to subtweet people?_

A: _Always knew you were a hypocrite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aut viam inveniam aut faciam - I shall either find a way or make one
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you thought!! <33


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Speaking of my ass. When’s our next rendezvous, management?”  
> “Tell me you did not just say rendezvous.” Adam’s eye roll is unnecessary, but he does it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter… is incredibly filthy and for that, I can only apologise. (Maybe don’t read it at work? lol) Hopefully that makes it worth the wait!!  
> It's taken me a little bit longer to get this chapter done mostly because I've been back at work, but also because it was about 12k at one point and getting longer. So I decided to split it, rather than keep agonising over how long it was.  
> I’ve updated the tags, mainly because there is phone sex and there is a lot of dirty talk in this chapter. I also added the tag light D/s and in my opinion it is very light and it’s mostly wrapped up in the dirty talk, but I know that it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch that photoshoot is creepy as fuck

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish is it gonna give you nightmares?

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch any dream with you in it is a nightmare

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish nice to know ur thinking of me

*

Adam’s sat backstage in New Orleans and he’s waiting to get ready for the show. Blue is writing a blog post and she’s nodding her head along to the music coming out of her laptop. She’d long ago given up on asking Adam for his opinion on her blog post, after his responses deteriorated to sarcastic comments, rather than anything helpful.

He’s scrolling through his Instagram feed instead, mostly for a lack of anything better to do and also so he can look like he’s busy, if Blue decides she does want his input again. He’s just mindlessly scrolling really, not taking anything in at all. But then Adam sees something on his feed that gives him pause.

It’s Ronan. Or rather it’s a picture of Ronan. He’s sat in a recording studio, bulky headphones on and he’s grinning at whoever is taking the photo, despite also giving them the middle finger. _‘@fakeronanlynch always a pleasure_ ,’ reads the caption. Adam clicks on the profile that posted the photo. It’s the profile of some music producer and Adam wouldn’t care that Ronan is hanging out with this guy. Except he’s hot. And he knows he shouldn’t care about that. But there’s a tiny rainbow flag in his bio.

Adam calls Ronan. He ducks out of the green room and out of an emergency door that someone’s left propped open with a brick. Adam sits on the fire escape steps and settles his back against the cold brick wall.

Ronan doesn’t answer straight away, and Adam berates himself for not checking he wasn’t busy, almost talks himself into hanging up. But then Ronan answers, although he’s clearly talking to someone else.

“—already know that. Yeah. It’s Parrish. Of course I’m gonna tell him.” Ronan’s saying. Adam can’t hear who he’s talking to, but Ronan’s voice is loud enough that he’s obviously already got the phone to his ear. “Parrish?”

“Oh sorry, were you talking to me?” Adam says. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Yeah right. Did you call me just to remind me that you exist? Because I hadn’t forgotten. It’s only been three days since Miami.”

“Pretty much.” No point in dancing around the issue. “Who was that guy? The one who posted that picture of you on Instagram.”

Ronan snorts. “Are you jealous Parrish?”

“No.” He’s not. Much.

“Of course not. Why else would you call, if not to tell me how completely not jealous you were.”

“I was just wondering if you were, you know. Fake friends with him.” Adam hates the way these words are coming out, but he doesn’t know how else to articulate them. Ahead of him, the setting sun is setting the skyline ablaze and everything is golden.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my only fake friend. He did an EDM remix of a track from our first album. I just went to check it out while we were in Miami.”

Adam knows he was being stupid. His heart burns like the sky. “That’s… cool. You’re my only fake friend too. Just so you know.”

“Good. I mean, everyone knows you struggle to make friends, it would be weird if you started having loads of fake ones.”

“Ouch. Gansey’s my friend.”

“Yeah, Gansey thinks the sun shines out of your ass.”

“Like you don’t.”

“Well, I’ve seen it. I know it’s just like everyone else’s ass.”

“Hmm. We can’t all have an ass as nice as yours.”

 _I miss you,_ Adam nearly says. _I’m glad I’m your only fake friend,_ he almost says.

“Speaking of my ass. When’s our next rendezvous, management?”

“Tell me you did not just say rendezvous.” Adam’s eye roll is unnecessary, but he does it anyway.

“I did. Deal with it. You know that we’ve gotta go do the show in Vancouver, to replace the one we had to cancel, and then it’s a music video shoot in New York a few days after that. And we’re going to London a week earlier.”

“Oh, right.” Adam knows about the Vancouver show, and he knows about the music video shoot in New York. Ronan was going to come to Las Vegas after that, before he left for London. Adam opens his mental calendar. It doesn’t look good. “So, you don’t have time between New York and London anymore?”

“It fucking sucks,” Ronan says.

“Why are going to London early?” Adam wishes he could keep the accusing tone out of his voice, but ‘ _Fucking sucks’,_ doesn’t even cover it.

“You remember those tracks that I played you in DC that night? We decided that we’re gonna record them properly. Maybe put them out online only, or release an EP. You know, shit like that.” Ronan sounds placatory and it makes Adam feel guilty.

“And you need to do that in London.” It’s not a question and it comes out in a tone that Adam’s got no control over. He feels embarrassed about it, and has to remind himself that if it was the other way around, he’d want Ronan to be accepting of him putting his career over their—are they even in a relationship?

“Abbey Road. They had some availability, and we’re hardly gonna turn that down. Shit. There’s gotta be a way this can work.” Ronan huffs.

Adam doesn’t say anything else, just sits and listens to Ronan breath. Wishes he were there. Wishes Ronan was here. Wishes they were both somewhere else, somewhere together. Anywhere, together.

Suddenly, the sound of someone banging on a hotel room door breaks their fragile silence. Somebody’s shouting, in the background. “Oh shit,” Ronan says.

“What is going on?” There’s more shouting and Adam can tell Ronan’s left wherever he was taking the call, to investigate.

There’s a few minutes of muffled voices and distant yelling. And then, “Cheng’s bleached his hair!” Ronan says, gleefully,

“And that warrants yelling because…?”

“We’re in this posh-ass hotel suite. And he’s bleached half the bathroom.” Ronan’s laughing so much, and, in the background, Adam can hear Noah’s laugh as well. He can also hear Gansey saying lots of words that begin with R, like _responsibility_ and _reputation_ and _reputable establishment_ and _Ronan._

“What’s he involving you for?” Adam asks.

“I don’t know, I didn’t hear what he said completely. Maybe ‘this is something Ronan would do.’ He was trying to get me on his side before.”

“On his side? I take it you’re not.”

“Fuck no. I don’t care if Cheng makes himself look like an idiot. Less attention on me.”

“And we all know how much you hate attention,” Adam says. He knows Noah hears this too, because there’s a fresh peal of giggles from him.

“Fuck off, Parrish.”

“I think I will actually.” The sun has almost completely set. Adam’s got to be on stage in 15 minutes and he’s not changed or anything yet.

“No, wait. Hold on.” There’s the sound of more muffled talking and then a couple of slamming doors. Adam waits, but he’s running out of time.

“I’ve really got to go Ronan.”

“Okay, I just wanted to tell you…” Ronan starts to say, but he trails off.

Adam waits, but he doesn’t continue. “Yes?” he asks.

“Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll sort it out, alright. Have a good show.” Ronan hangs up.

Adam frowns at the phone, like it can tell him what the fuck just happened. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so obstinate about Ronan going to London earlier than planned. He sends a text, before he changes for the show.

A: _I didn’t mean to be like that. I’m just disappointed that I won’t get to see you before you leave for your European tour. I can’t wait to see the photos when Gansey makes you all recreate the Beatles Abbey Road cover._

He doesn’t have any more time to dedicate to worrying about it right now, but it still plays on his mind the whole show and then again afterwards.

*

It was inevitable really, that something like this was going to happen. They’re two days into the five day stint in a hotel suite in Mexico City, and no matter how fancy the suite is, the four of them are still stuck in it. Only allowed out for the two shows, four radio interviews and one television performance. Noah jokes that he feels like a performing animal. Ronan’s been feeling that way a lot recently. They’re practically climbing the walls, even Gansey’s been on edge.

So yeah, it was inevitable that one of them did something stupid. If Ronan had been taking bets though, most of the money would have been on him. He doubts there would have been much money on Henry. But there should have been, as evidenced by the five hotel towels, a bathmat and one of Henry’s t-shirts, all ruined by bleach.

In the main room of the suite, Noah and Henry are debating what colour Henry should dye his bleached hair, while Gansey paces, on the phone to their tour manager, with a pinched expression on his face. Ronan sneaks in, avoiding the debate, and grabs Gansey’s laptop from where it’s been charging.

The phone call with Adam is still playing in his head. Every conversation he has with Adam gets stuck in there somewhere, like a song. There’s one in particular though, that’s been in his head longer than the rest. He’s written it down, he’s got the music, the melody, it’s just the lyrics. There’s a lot that he feels about Adam that Ronan can’t put lyrics to. Gansey’s written the lyrics to most of their songs, but it feels important to Ronan that he writes these ones. He can’t find the words though, can’t say it all, or can’t say it right. He feels so much that maybe there aren’t words at all.

There’s no way he’s not seeing Adam before he goes to Europe for three months.

Ronan knows that somewhere on his phone or his laptop or on someone’s phone, or someone’s laptop, he’s got an email detailing their tour schedule, their flights and their breaks. He knows it exists and when he finally finds it, saved to the desktop of Gansey’s laptop, he almost whoops out loud. Almost.

He opens up the schedule and compares it with the Page of Cups schedule Adam sent him. Adam’s got a three day break in Detroit right after the Vancouver show, and it’s not the days off in Las Vegas they had planned, but it’s better than nothing. Ronan would go on whichever part of the tour he could, really, even if it was just five days of non-stop travel and shows. He’s supposed to be flying back to New York with Noah while Cheng and Gansey stay in Vancouver, but flights can be changed.

It's truly a testament to how horny he is, and how desperately he wants to see Adam again, that Ronan does something he would normally never consider. He calls his brother.

Declan answers on the first ring. Loser.

And then he says, “Gansey? What’s happened?” and Ronan nearly hangs up. He pulls the phone from his ear, it’s definitely his, full battery and everything, unopened text from Adam on the screen. He can hear Declan’s tinny voice asking for Gansey again.

“No, fuckface. It’s me. The person whose phone this is,” Ronan snaps.

“Ronan.” Declan’s trying to cover his surprise up, but it’s too late. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need you to change my flight. The one from Vancouver. I’m going to Detroit in the break before London, not New York.”

“I’m not your secretary.”

“Yes, but you are the band’s _manager._ I’m asking you to _manage_ to change my flight.”

“What’s in Detroit?”

“Fuck all probably.”

“So why are you going?”

“I feel like it. Are you going to change my flight or not?”

“I’ll think about it,” Declan says, and then he hangs up before Ronan can argue.

*

In a slightly too cold office, in the New York division of Cabeswater LLC, Declan Lynch is not changing his younger brother’s flight.

Instead, he’s pulled up the tour schedule for the band Page of Cups. They’re playing in Detroit, and then they’ve got a few days before their show in Chicago. If Declan were their tour manager, he’d be giving them the two of the three days between the two shows in Detroit and then moving them to the new city on the third day. The days coincide perfectly with the break in Nightwash’s tour schedule. Ronan’s due to leave Vancouver the same day as the Page of Cups Detroit show. 

Declan knows about Adam Parrish. He knows, of course, about Nancy Jones’ PR stunt. He was however, up until this point, unaware of the extent to which _Ronan_ was invested in the relationship. Declan’s not so sure that a public relationship is what’s good for Ronan right now, but then he considers what he’s heard about Parrish from people on the label who’ve worked with him. Talented, diligent, conscientious, comes to meetings well prepared, teetotal.

Declan’s hesitancy is less to do with Adam Parrish and more to do with Nancy. Nancy’s never liked Ronan and she’s never made an effort to hide it, especially not since Ronan's abrupt coming out caused her an excessive amount of overtime.

Declan finds one of the actually competent interns, one that will change Ronan’s flight to something reasonable and not leave him stranded in Des Moines instead of Detroit. He tells the intern to get Ronan a flight from Chicago to New York so he can fly to London with the rest of his band. He’s just walking away from the intern when a thought occurs to him. He turns back to her and says, “Don’t tell Nancy Jones.”

*

The text Adam gets from Ronan is so out of the blue and so without context that Adam thinks he’s missed a couple of messages that should have come before it. But then he remembers, this is Ronan Lynch, it’s a miracle he ever gets texts at all.

R: _I’m not going to beg._

Adam thinks back to the conversation they’d had in Philadelphia. It’s 11pm and he’s tucked up in his tour bus bunk, the road rumbling beneath him. He thinks about Ronan, bored and alone in his room, still in Mexico City. He sends three texts in quick succession and then waits.

A: _See that just sounds like a challenge._

A: _I like challenges._

A: _What do you me to do then? If you don’t want me to make you beg?_

He wonders if Ronan is actually going to reply, or if he just had one point to make and that was it. But then his phone buzzes.

R: _I thought that was obvious. Tell me what to do. Maybe I’ll do it._

A: _Not maybe. You will._

A: _Call me?_

He knows Ronan hates phone calls, so he doesn’t expect anything. Still, he slides out of his bunk and checks that Blue is sleeping. In the back lounge of the tour bus, he locks the flimsy door and settles into the predictably uncomfortable seat that stretches down one side of the room.

Adam doesn’t know if it’s surprising or not when his phone rings. Bit of both, he thinks.

“See we’re off to a good start,” he says to Ronan, in lieu of hello.

“Fuck you,” Ronan replies, but Adam can hear the grin in his voice.

“Where are you? Still in the hotel?”

“Yeah, we're trapped forever. You?”

“Tour bus. About three hours out of Nashville. How’s Mexico?”

“Hot. It’s the middle of the night and it’s hot outside. But I know you didn’t want me to call so you could ask about the weather, Parrish.”

“No, I wanted to prove you would do what I told you to.”

Ronan’s quiet, but Adam can hear him breathing a little heavier than normal down the line.

“Are you naked?” he asks Ronan.

“No. Do you want me to be?”

Adam groans a little and spreads his legs. He’s been halfway to hard since Ronan’s text, but the thought of Ronan taking his clothes off, alone in a hotel room, because Adam told him to, is enough to get him the rest of the way there.

“Yes. But you can’t touch yourself yet.”

“How will you know if I do?” There’s rustling on Ronan’s end of the line. Adam imagines him settling at the head of the bed, completely naked with his flushed, red cock curved up to his stomach.

“Doesn’t matter, you won’t. Because I told you not to.” Adam’s surprised at how certain he sounds. “You’re not allowed to, okay? Not at all, not without asking me first.”

“Adam,” Ronan gasps, brokenly. As quick as Adam thinks he got there, Ronan definitely got there first. “What about my hole? Can I touch myself there?”

“No,” Adam tells him, firmly.

“I wanna get ready for you though, get myself ready for you to fuck me.”

“Fuck you like I did in Miami? Face down on the floor with your ass in the air? I loved the sounds you made then.” Adam doesn’t know how he knows it, but Ronan’s wrapped a hand around his cock. “Don’t touch. I told you not to. Or are you really going to disobey me?”

“Fuck, how did you fucking know that?”

“No more swearing either. Your mouth’s dirty enough.”

Ronan groans wildly into the phone. Adam slides his own hand into his boxers and wraps it around his cock. He rubs a thumb over the head and thinks about fucking Ronan from behind, watching his muscles move under his glorious tattoo, back shining with sweat. Thinks about Ronan being still and keeping quiet because Adam told him to.

“Adam, come on. Let me touch myself. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me when we next see each other.”

Adam laughs meanly. “You’re going to do that anyway, whether I let you touch yourself now or not.”

“Tell me what I’ve got to do now.”

“You already know. I know you’re just avoiding it.”

Ronan groans again. Adam can tell he’s so close, so close to breaking for him.

“Come on Ronan. I know what you really want is to be a good boy for me, to do what I tell you to do. I know you want to finger yourself for me, so you can take my cock. If I tell you to do it every day between now and when we next see each other, would you? Would you do it so that when I get my hands on you, you’re already loose for me? You can touch your cock as well. I bet you’re so hard right now. All you’ve got to do is beg.”

There’s silence from the phone and Adam panics, wonders if this time he’s pushed it too far. There’s something about not knowing that Adam hates. Fuck, they need to establish some boundaries. Adam already knows that Ronan’s going to hate that conversation.

Ronan moans, long and low, and then the dam bursts. “Please, Adam, please. I will, I’ll do all that, I’ll do more, just please let me touch myself now. Please.”

“Go on then.”

“Oh God.”

Adam’s not touched himself yet. He wants to wait a bit longer, hold off on coming until Ronan’s done. He adjusts himself a bit though, to relieve some of the pressure on his dick.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” he says to Ronan.

“Playing chess, what do you think?” He sounds breathless though

“Ronan.” He hopes Ronan hears the warning in his voice. “I can tell you to stop. I can tell you that you’re not allowed to come at all.”

“You wouldn’t.” Ronan

“I will if you give me more backchat. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m touching my cock, I’m lying on back, with my legs spread.”

“Roll over. Get up on your knees and get your perfect ass in the air for me.”

There’s more rustling on the phone line and Adam hears the sounds get louder as Ronan changes the phone to speaker.

“That’s good, Ronan.” Adam kicks his boxers off, and he tells Ronan, “You’ve got me so hard, being so good for me. Are you going to get your fingers inside yourself for me? I’m sat at the end of the bed watching you. When you’ve made yourself come, I’m going to fuck you.”

Ronan chokes on a moan. He’s not talking anymore and Adam’s sure that means he’s got his fingers inside himself. His low moans and heavy breathing into the phone make Adam keep going.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll get you to make yourself come, just with your own fingers, and then when you’re all sensitive from it, all loose and pliant, I’ll fuck you.” Adam speeds up his hand around his cock. “Are you going to come now? Come on Ronan, I want to hear you come for me.”

“Yeah, please. I will, I want that. Adam.” Ronan says Adam’s name over and over and then he chokes out one last desperate moan before he keens with his orgasm. Adam’s not far behind and the sounds of Ronan and the thought of him on his knees for Adam are enough to push him towards his own orgasm.

He wipes his stomach and cock clean with his discarded boxers, but keeps the phone pressed to his ear, listening to Ronan’s heavy breath slowing down.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ronan breathes. “That was intense.”

“It was. Good intense?”

“Fucking awesome. Anyway, you’ve got what, Nashville, Indianapolis, Detroit, Chicago?” Ronan’s apparently learnt Adam’s tour schedule, despite showing no interest in learning his own.

“Yeah, we’ve got a few days between Detroit and Chicago, which will be great. I haven’t felt this much like a zombie since high school.”

“Uh huh, I’m supposed to be going to New York for a few days, before the video shoot, but—” Ronan doesn’t trail off so much as cut himself off abruptly. Adam fills in the blank, the _I don’t want to._ He thinks about asking Ronan to fly to Detroit or Chicago, but it’s short notice now. There’s a line somewhere in this relationship and Adam wishes he could figure out where it was. Adam swallows. Speaking of crossing lines…

“Ronan, we need to talk about boundaries,” Adam says, as he finds a clean pair of underpants and a t-shirt.

“Is this about me asking if you wash your legs in the shower or not? Because that was all over Twitter, that wasn’t a sex thing.”

“I know. It’s not about that. I mean it was weird.”

“What’s it about then? Do I need to stop talking shit about you on the radio?”

“That would be nice, but I’m not expecting miracles. It’s about the whole me telling you what to do thing.”

Adam doesn’t get a reply to that, but Ronan doesn’t hang up either, so he counts it as a win.

“I just mean,” Adam continues. “That I need you to tell me what’s too far. Where the boundaries are on what you’re willing to do.”

“Anything. I’d do anything you told me to.” Adam doesn’t know what he expected Ronan to say, but his response is actually not surprising. It’s so _Ronan._

“What if I told you to do something you didn’t want to do?”

“Then I’d tell you to fuck off.”

“See, there are things you wouldn’t do.”

“You’re making me do one of them right now. I don’t want to talk about my feelings.”

“This isn’t about your feelings, it’s about what we do in bed.”

“Yeah, and how I feel about it. I don’t get why we have to talk about it.”

Adam doesn’t want to get angry, especially when he recognises familiar stubborn avoidance. _Recognised your own personality traits in someone else?_

“Look, I don’t want to fuck this up. And I don’t want to keep second guessing every damn thing. And if we’re going to do this face to face, rather than over the phone, I need to know what—” Adam pulls himself back from his frustration, tries to see it from the outside. Is he asking Ronan to share something with him, that Adam wouldn’t be prepared to share with him in return? “Look, I’ll tell you what I’m comfortable with, and what I’m not. Is that better?”

Ronan grunts in response. Adam is honestly shocked that he hasn’t hung up yet.

Adam takes a slow, steady breath, in and out. He can do this. There’s nothing to read into this. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of hitting you. I’m not prepared to do that. If you want pain, I can find other ways of causing that, but I’m not going to hit you.”

There’s a pause before Ronan starts talking. He doesn’t comment on what Adam said though. He just says, “Don’t call me names. Like slut or whatever. I’m not and I don’t want to be told I am.”

“Thank you.” Adam doesn’t know what else to say, he wants to tell Ronan that he wouldn’t have done that anyway, but it’s beside the point.

“So come on, you never told me whether or not you wash your legs in the shower or not,” Ronan says. His tone has completely changed. Adam sighs in relief.

“Of course I wash my legs in the shower, what the fuck. What’s the other option?”

“You just let the water and the soap run down from the rest of your body.”

“Don’t tell me that’s what you do. That’s horrible.”

“Fuck no, Gansey gives me sponge baths.”

Adam laughs at that and when Ronan starts laughing too, it makes him laugh harder. Then they’re just two idiots, laughing down the phone to each other.

“That’s not even funny,” Ronan says, but he’s still laughing. “He actually did once.”

“Really?” The mood changes in this conversation are going to give Adam whiplash.

“Yeah, I think I threw up on him.”

“He really loves you.” It might have once made Adam jealous, realising that, but now he’s just happy, happy that Ronan’s got someone who’s loved him unconditionally for so long.

“Yeah. I’d do anything for him as well.” The _as well_ brings an unfamiliar swell of emotions to the surface inside Adam.

“I know,” Adam says, and he hopes Ronan hears what he isn’t saying.

“Call me tomorrow?” Ronan says.

“If you want me to, I will.”

“Yeah, I do. Goodnight Parrish.”

“Night Lynch.”

After he hangs up the phone, Adam lays there on the bench seat and he stares across the lounge and out the window, at the black Tennessee night flying past. He’s so utterly gone for Ronan, he thinks. All these unfamiliar emotions that Ronan causes are creating a whirlpool inside Adam. There’s a notepad on the floor of the lounge and Adam sits and writes, tries to sort out the storm, tries to make the whirlpool into something he understands.

Three hours later, when they pull into the lot outside the venue in Nashville, that’s how Blue finds him, guitar on his lap but still no closer to figuring anything out.

*

Adam’s had a shit day. He’s been feeling tired and moody and on edge ever since he woke up in his tiny tour bus bunk. Not even performing was enough to pull him out of his slump. The Detroit show was good, it went well, the crowd were great, and they had fun on stage. But as soon as he’s showered and into clean sweats, he’s back in his bad mood.

Ronan hasn’t messaged him all day. He doesn’t think that’s why he’s in a mood. And he knows he shouldn’t expect it, he’s a touring musician too, he’s busy. But since Miami, since Philadelphia even, they’ve messaged pretty much every day. Just dumb things. _Saw a pigeon that looked like you. Did you steal that riff from a Slipknot song? Thinking about that noise you made when I came in your ass. Did you know that in Sweden they have crash test mooses for cars?_ Just dumb stuff, but it’s been a constant through the days.

He’s phoned Ronan every night too, sometimes they don’t even talk, and Adam’s fallen asleep on the phone more than once. He thinks about calling Ronan when he gets to the hotel, to see what’s been keeping him so occupied today.

He tells Blue about his bad mood in the car on the way back to their hotel. They’ve got a few days off and Adam plans to spend them sleeping, wallowing and writing, in equal parts.

“I think your evening is going to get better,” Blue says, smirking mysteriously.

Adam grunts and presses his head against the cold car window. He doubts it.

They get to the hotel and Adam’s just looking forward to crawling into bed, sleeping somewhere that’s not moving and not ridiculously hot. He scans his key card and slouches into his room.

There’s somebody in his room already. Adam startles for a second, mind instantly providing him with the worst-case scenario. But his panic clears quickly when he sees that it’s the best-case scenario. Ronan Lynch is reclining casually on his bed, like it’s his hotel room and Adam’s the intruder. Like he’s supposed to be there.

Ronan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Surprise,” he says. Adam breaks into a huge grin. “Thank fuck it’s you. I was gonna get naked but then I was worried that Sargent was gonna set me up, leave the wrong key card at the desk or some shit.”

Adam’s so fucking happy. His bad mood has evaporated, and he just wants to wrap himself up in _Ronan._ He’s across the room, bag flung to the ground, and Ronan’s off the bed just as quickly. They collide somewhere in the middle. There’s a rush that comes with being this close to Ronan, so unexpectedly, but it’s nothing compared to the way the rest of him settles, loose pieces slotting into place.

Adam breathes in, feels his heartbeat sync to Ronan’s, thudding against his chest. He noses up the side of Ronan’s neck, kisses at the edge of his jaw until Ronan turns his head and kisses Adam’s mouth, hard and desperate.

“Fuck, Adam,” Ronan groans, into the kiss. “You should know,” he whispers into Adam’s mouth. “That I’ve already prepped myself.”

“Fuck,” is all Adam can say to that. His brain isn’t working on account of how all the blood in his body rushing immediately south. The idea of Ronan, here, waiting for him in his hotel room, fingering himself, stretching himself so he’s ready to take Adam’s cock as soon as possible, makes his head spin.

“Yeah? You like that?” Ronan says. He takes a step away from Adam and he’s looking at Adam so darkly, something heated and predatory in his eyes. There’s a wicked grin on his face too, and Adam watches, mouth dry as Ronan strips his clothes off.

Adam’s stood stupidly in the middle of the room, feeling a little dumbstruck, watching Ronan fist his hard cock, moving towards him.

But when Ronan gets close enough, Adam takes the initiative, grabs him by the hips and pushes him into the wall by the door. “How long have you been here?” he asks, and then, without waiting for an answer, kisses Ronan bruisingly hard.

Ronan’s kissing back just as fiercely and his hands scrabble at Adam’s clothes, pulling his sweatpants down to pool at their feet, boxers following quickly. When Adam pulls away from Ronan’s lips to take off his t-shirt, Ronan replies “An hour? I don’t know.”

“Did you finger yourself here? Or did you do it on the plane? How desperate were you feeling?” Adam’s naked now too and he presses his whole body against Ronan’s, every place they touch catches fire.

“Jesus Adam. I did it here. I’m not going to finger myself in a fucking airplane bathroom.” Ronan’s breathing hard already and Adam leaves biting kisses down the side of his neck.

“You would if I told you to. You would if I told you I was meeting you at the airport and I wanted to fuck you in my car.”

“Oh shit.” Ronan bucks forward desperately, his cock rubbing deliciously against Adam’s.

“Get on your knees, Ronan,” Adam says, and he watches as Ronan slides down to his knees like he’s got no choice but to obey.

“Adam,” he says and it’s like a prayer. Ronan runs his hands reverently up the back of Adam’s thighs and rests his head against Adam’s sharp hipbone. Adam rests one hand on Ronan’s shoulder and cups the back of his head with his other hand and just holds him in place, just for a little while.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Adam whispers. The words are out before he can stop them, and he almost breaks with how true they are. He expects Ronan to scoff at him, make fun for putting words to whatever this feeling is, but instead Ronan makes a soft noise, like Adam’s words broke him too. They’re so caught in this moment, all the things neither of them say, but both of them know are true, hanging in the air between them, crackling like the air before a summer storm.

Ronan presses a kiss to the top of Adam’s thigh and whispers, “You too.” The moment breaks.

Adam wraps a hand around his cock and uses the hand on Ronan’s head to tilt it back, so he’s looking up at Adam.

“You want it?” He hopes Ronan knows what he means when he says _it._

Ronan’s icy blue eyes are blown wide with lust and his mouth is open, red, and wet and so inviting. “Oh yeah. I want that,” he breathes. He knows then.

Adam wants his mouth, wants to tell Ronan to hold his hands behind his back, wants to feel that rush of power when he does, wants to fuck Ronan’s face until there are tears streaming from his pretty eyes.

“Stick out your tongue,” he says and _there’s_ that rush that comes when Ronan does what he’s told. Adam rubs the head of his cock against Ronan’s tongue and then pushes all the way in just once, until he hits the back of Ronan’s throat. When he pulls out again, Ronan makes a high, desperate noise, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t put his tongue back in his mouth. He just looks up at Adam and waits.

“Good boy,” Adam breathes. He rubs his cock against Ronan’s tongue again, holds his head still with his free hand. He keeps Ronan right where he wants him as he fucks roughly into his mouth. Ronan’s got his mouth wide open, his tongue still out and when Adam pulls out and looks at him, thick strands of saliva drag from his mouth.

“Get on the bed and show me what you did.” When Ronan moves to stand up though, he stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Crawl.”

Ronan’s looking at him with that fucking challenge in his eyes, eyebrow raised, like he’s asking _or what?_ Adam doesn’t know what, but he knows he doesn’t need to know. He just looks expectantly at Ronan, waiting for him to do it. Because he will.

He does. Adam has to squeeze his own cock at the base to stop himself from coming at the site of Ronan Lynch fucking _crawling_ across the hotel room floor to the bed. It’s not far, but it’s enough that it’s got to have been at least a little humiliating. Ronan doesn’t care, Adam can see his hard cock hanging between his legs. He can also see flashes of slickness between his perfect, rounded ass cheeks.

When he gets on the bed, he kneels up and looks at Adam. His expression says _what now, asshole?_ But he stays silent.

“On your front, head on the pillow, ass up.” And that’s a fucking sight. Ronan’s got his perfect ass in the air and when Adam says, “Show me,” he reaches behind himself with both hands and spreads himself open, presenting his wet, pink hole to Adam. “Fuck, you did this for me?”

Adam pushes two fingers straight in. He knows Ronan wanted him to just push right in with his dick, but he doesn’t want to actually hurt Ronan. Really, he’d prefer to start with one finger but knows Ronan would hate it. So, two it is, as a compromise. Ronan lets go of his ass and fists his hands in the sheets by his head. Adam uses his free hand to grip one of Ronan’s ass cheeks, keep him spread open as he fingers him.

“Thought about you coming in here, catching me doing it.” Ronan’s pushing back against his fingers, so Adam adds a third. “Pulling my fingers out of me and replacing them with your cock.”

“Oh fuck. That’s so dirty, Ronan. Why didn’t you keep going? Could’ve been doing it still when I came in. You knew you’d get found out either way, didn’t you? Breaking the rules.”

“I’m not sorry.” He doesn’t sound it and Adam doesn’t want him to be. Only wants to give him rules that they both know he can break, ones there are really no consequences to breaking. Ronan lives with so many rules, ones he can’t afford to break, so Adam wants to give him ones that he can.

“You will be. Touching yourself without my permission. Do you think you deserve my cock after that?”

“No, I don’t. Will you give it to me anyway?” His voice is low and rough, slightly muffled from his face in the pillow and it’s the single hottest thing Adam’s ever heard.

“If you beg, if you beg nicely.” Adam’s fucking his three fingers fast into Ronan now and he’s building up a rhythm, _in, out, twist, in, out, twist._ “Come on, Ronan. Beg me.”

“I don’t have to.” Ronan pushes himself up onto his hands and turns his head, locks eyes with Adam. He’s got that challenging look again, like he’s going to push this. “You’ll give it to me, because you’re more desperate to be in me than I am to have you inside.”

Adam laughs, meanly and twists his fingers so they press right into Ronan’s prostate. Ronan keens and his hips stutter forwards. “I’m not the one who was fingering myself in someone else’s hotel room. I’m not the one who took a seven hour flight just to get _fucked._ You know I can make you beg.” He pulls his fingers out and Ronan, predictably, whines at the loss.

“See, now you’re gonna put your cock in me.” He’s still going to be challenging then. “You’re just as desperate as I am.”

Adam thinks he’s probably more desperate. But he’s still in control, and he’s going to prove it. He leans close to Ronan’s ear, and puts his free hand carefully around Ronan’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze but digs his fingers into the bottom of Ronan’s jaw. He growls in his ear, “Stop talking. I don’t want to hear another word out of you that’s not _please,_ or _Adam,_ or _more.”_ He hesitates. “Or stop, if you want me to stop. Obviously.”

Ronan nods once, and the way he’s looking at Adam in that moment is so intense that something twists deep inside of Adam. _Everything I feel for you Ronan Lynch, terrifies me and amazes me. Some days I don’t know whether to run to you or from you._

And then Adam puts on a condom and fits himself inside Ronan and all other thoughts vanish from his head. Despite the stretching, Ronan’s tight and hot inside and Adam is pumping his hips hard, pushing deep inside Ronan. Ronan’s up on his hands still, head thrown back, but Adam plants a hand between his tattooed shoulder blades and pushes him down. Down so his head is buried in the pillow and his back is curved sinuously, ass pressed up to meet Adam’s wild thrusts.

“Fuck, Ronan. You feel so good, you’re so good for me. Always do what I tell you to do, so long as I give you my cock, right?” As soon as the words are out of him, he realises they’re not true. He told Ronan to beg and he didn’t, but now he’s fucking him anyway.

Adam plasters himself against Ronan’s back and says roughly into his ear, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that I want to hear your pretty mouth begging me. Maybe you’re not begging for my cock, but you’ll be begging me to let you come.”

“Adam,” Ronan whines, like he thinks maybe he hasn’t missed his chance.

“No, you should’ve begged when I told you to. To think, I was going to let you come on my cock tonight.” Adam sits back up, pulls Ronan’s hips up with him so he can fuck hard and fast into him. “Guess I’ll just have to use you to get myself off.”

And he does. Adam angles his hips so he’s not even grazing Ronan’s prostate. He fucks hard and fast, chasing his own orgasm, completely losing himself in the feeling of Ronan hot and tight around him. When he comes, he feels it in every part of his body, orgasm wracking through him. He hasn’t come that hard in a long time and it’s like all the frustration he’s been feeling flows out of him.

After he’s pulled out and disposed of the condom, Adam turns back to where Ronan is still on his knees with his ass in the air. He’s pliant and unresisting when Adam gently rolls him onto his back. Ronan’s pupils are still blown, and his cock is hard and leaking against his stomach.

“Somethin’ you wanna say to me?” Adam drawls. He kneels between Ronan’s spread legs and traces a thumb across Ronan’s bottom lip, drawing it out from between his teeth.

“Please. Please, Adam.” He hesitates and licks his lips. Adam can see how hard for him this is gonna be. “Please can I come?”

“Good boy.” Adam licks over the head of Ronan’s cock and Ronan groans raggedly. “That wasn’t so hard was it? Now you get a reward.”

He wraps his hand around the base of Ronan’s cock and sucks hard at the head, pressing his tongue into the slit. Ronan’s breathing hard and he’s panting Adam’s name and _please_ over and over. He’s trying so hard not to move, not to thrust up into Adam’s mouth and Adam rewards him by taking him further into his mouth, sucking harder even though he knows that Ronan won’t come until he has permission.

Adam wouldn’t normally allow himself to spend this much time blowing Ronan, or take him this deeply, but he’s got three days off from singing and that means plenty of time for his throat to recover. Eventually though, Adam’s jaw is getting sore. He pulls off of Ronan and says, “You can come now.” He takes the head of Ronan’s cock back into his mouth as he comes, letting the taste of Ronan spill over his tongue. He sucks him through his orgasm and licks at the head when Ronan is spent.

Adam rolls off the bed, but Ronan reaches out for him. “Don’t go,” he says.

“I’m just getting something to clean up with. I’m coming back.” He’s as quick as he can be grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom. Ronan grumbles when Adam wipes the come off of his soft dick and the lube from around his hole, but he shuffles himself under the covers without complaint.

Adam flicks off all the lights but the sconce above the bed and spoons up behind him. Ronan releases a long, deep breath; he sounds like he’d been holding that breath for a long time.

Adam shuts his eyes, and he could so easily fall asleep right here, wrapped up in Ronan, but Ronan’s wide awake still. He’s holding one of Adam’s hands in both of his and he’s playing with his fingers.

“Thanks,” Ronan finally says. “For that.” He’s speaking so low, like he almost hopes Adam won’t hear him.

“You don’t need to say that.” Adam matches his volume.

“I do. You do this for me and –”

“And you think I don’t get off on it?” Adam interrupts him, speaking a little louder. “You think I’m not having the best sex I’ve ever had with you?”

Ronan snorts at Adam’s comment. “It’s not that. I just feel so… needy. Like I’m taking this from you.”

“And here I was, feeling like a selfish bastard for fucking you like that.”

“You know I need it.”

And there it is. There’s the rub. “You think you think you deserve it.” Adam tamps down his own reaction to that. He knows what Ronan’s been through, the last few years, and can’t imagine how he doesn’t see himself as anything but brave and strong.

Ronan nods. He’s closed his eyes tightly, and his brow is furrowed, deep lines carved in pale skin. Adam shifts them around so that Ronan is on his back and Adam is hovering above him on his hands and knees.

“You know what you deserve?” he says. Ronan shakes his head. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, like he doesn’t want to look at Adam. Adam presses kisses to his forehead, to his eyelids, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his jaw. “This,” he says and keeps kissing all down Ronan’s body. He kisses his neck and his chest, leaves a trail of kisses down his sternum to his stomach. He kisses down the lines of hard muscles that lead to his soft cock. Adam kisses that too, gently. As he presses kisses down the inside of Ronan’s thighs, he hopes that his kisses are saying everything he can’t. _I think you’re incredible, you’re brave, you’re strong, you’re amazing and if you’ll let me, I want to love you, like I’ve never wanted anyone before._ Adam’s at Ronan’s feet now and he’s sat up slightly. He’s watching Adam and his eyes say _I know._

But his mouth says, “I don’t. But you can do that again.” He’s smirking a little bit and Adam’s relieved he’s got his Ronan back.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Adam says as he crawls back up Ronan’s body to kiss him softly on the mouth. Ronan tangles his fingers in Adam’s hair and kisses him back, tongue sliding along his bottom lip and pushing forward to dip gently in Adam’s mouth. Adam pulls back a little and says, “But I’m so tired.”

“We’ve got time to talk about this.” Ronan doesn’t sound like he wants to though, but they will.

“We do? When do you leave?” Adam can’t believe this wasn’t his first question when he found Ronan in his room.

“When you leave Chicago.”

“When we leave _for_ Chicago?”

“No dumbass, I’m coming to Chicago and then when you leave Chicago to go wherever the fuck you’re going next, I’m flying to New York.”

“That’s like, five days.” There must be some kind of panicked look on Adam’s face because Ronan panics too.

“Oh fuck. That’s not okay is it? I should’ve asked before I came, I shouldn’t have-- I just wanted to--.”

“No! I just wasn’t expecting that. That’s such a long time, I didn’t think you could stay for all that time.” He kisses Ronan again. “I’m happy, honestly. This is how I look when I’m happy.”

“What? Freaked out?”

“Well it’s rare, so it freaks me out.”

“Weird, Parrish,” Ronan says, and then he yawns. Adam agrees, he needs to sleep. Ronan will still be here when he wakes up, and Adam can’t get over how happy that thought makes him.

*

They’ve got nowhere to be the next morning and Adam relishes the opportunity to be lazy. Relishes it even more because he wakes up with Ronan in his bed, naked and twisted around him.

They swap sleep sour kisses and Adam remembers waking up at Monmouth and thinking he’d like to wake up every morning like that.

He’s hard, and so is Ronan; he can feel their cocks brushing against each other under the sheets as they tangle up in each other and the bedsheets. There’s no urgency though, nowhere to be and no obligations to fulfil. Not today.

“Last night.” Ronan says, voice rough with sleep still and quiet. “You do like it?”

“Of course I like it. I don’t do things I don’t want to do,” Adam huffs. Ronan must know that by now.

“What do you like about it?”

“Control.” It’s an answer that comes to Adam so quickly that it startles him. “I like to have control over things.”

Ronan snorts a sarcastic laugh. “Picked the right career then.”

Adam smiles. “Can’t control everything.”

“Is it why you don’t drink?”

“That and… other things.” Adam turns the conversation around, it’s getting uncomfortably to close to things he’s not ready to share yet. “You like it. And I want to ask why but I don’t want to you to tell me it’s because you deserve it. I know that you know that’s not why.”

Ronan groans and throws his head back on the pillow. Adam’s already guessed he’d be difficult about this. “When we do that, I don’t have to be _Ronan Lynch,_ I can just exist. Everyone’s watching Ronan Lynch, expecting him to fail, and waiting for the fuck up. When we do that, I can’t fail because –” He swallows. “because you won’t let me.”

Adam’s quiet. He lets what Ronan said sink into him, lets Ronan roll around again so his head is pillowed on Adam’s chest. He strokes the soft stubble of Ronan’s head and then he says, “I grew up in a trailer park. Proper dirt poor, white trash shit, you know?” Apparently, he was ready to share. Ronan makes him surprise himself.

He doesn’t need to go on, but it’s suddenly important to him that Ronan knows this now though. “My father beating me is why I can’t hear out of my left ear.”

He feels Ronan tense all over at that, and Adam doesn’t want to know what he thinks about that yet, he’s not ready to hear it. He can’t look at Ronan yet either, so he keeps running his fingers against the grain of Ronan’s hair and presses on.

“It’s why I moved out, in the end. When I was seventeen. There was a court case. And I wanted that to give me closure. And it did, mostly. But whenever people look at me, I just think that’s all they see. Like I can never scrub the dirt off, it’s too deep in my skin.”

“Poetic. Shit Parrish, you should be a songwriter.” Ronan doesn’t laugh at his own joke. “Is that why you’re so shitty people when you first meet them? Put your guard up real quick so they can’t get anything in first.”

Adam barks a laugh. “You think that’s what I do? No, I’m lovely and polite, southern gentleman. That was just you. Special treatment. God you pissed me off when I first met you. You just looked at me like, like hey who let the trash in, and it made me so mad.”

Ronan lifts his head from Adam’s chest, and he’s grinning when he says, “If it helps, I’d been sober for, like eleven days and I hated everyone and everything. And I was _in a bar_. You were way more of an asshole.”

“I know. Shit, I thought you were going to get us kicked off the label.” Adam cringes at the memory.

“I have never had, and nor will I ever be given, that much power.”

“It was just like you saw right through me.”

“See through you? If you’re in the room, all I see _is_ you.”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“You’re right, that was horrible. I need to go wash my mouth out.”

Adam laughs, properly this time, and then they’re tangling in the sheets again and it feels like this is the moment, really, that everything starts.

*

Nancy finds out. Declan doesn’t know how yet, but he’ll find out. Nancy might have her claws in a lot of parts of this company, but Declan’s a Lynch and that means something here, and it means something in this industry.

He’s packing up from a department heads meeting when Nancy corners him. She does that thing, that stupid power play, where you pretend like you have somewhere to rush off to, but you just remembered that you have a Very Important Thing to Discuss. Declan wrote the book on music industry power plays. Or at least, he’s the son of the man that wrote it.

“Oh, Declan,” says Nancy, like she’s just realised he was there. “I was wondering if you had a chance to have a quick word about the Nightwash PR campaign for the European tour?”

“Of course, why don’t we schedule something for say, tomorrow afternoon, at 2?”

“It won’t take long, if you have some time now.”

Declan hates not being prepared for these types of conversations. “Very well,” he says, instead of telling her to fuck off and speak to him in a proper meeting.

“What is Ronan Lynch doing in Detroit?” Straight to the point then.

Declan imagines for a second how Ronan would probably answer if asked the same question. _Fucking sightseeing._ “He has a few days off, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for him to visit a friend.”

“Why was this decision not put past me?” Nancy asks, drumming her red talons on her Filofax.

 _Because it was barely put past me,_ Declan thinks. He can feel Nancy’s irritation with him growing. “In the interest of clearing the air, I would just like to point out that the only reason you were ever asked to orchestrate the Philadelphia meeting was because it was decided to be in the best interests of both bands, and therefore needed a holistic viewpoint. I’ve taken the decision since then that further publicity stunts, involving my brother and Adam Parrish are not in the interest of Nightwash.”

“Not in their interest? Declan.” She gives him a sarcastic, simpering smile. “The statistics don’t lie.”

“The Philadelphia stunt has done nothing but increase speculation about who my brother is dating.”

She gives him that smile again. There’s red lipstick on her teeth. Declan doesn’t point it out. “I believe you and I have had several meetings to discuss how to reduce speculation that Mr Lynch is in a romantic relationship with Mr Gansey.”

“That may be the case, but I disagree that _this_ is an effective way to do it. You’re forgetting that my brother is still in recovery from substance abuse issues.”

“Well, a bit of positive press should be beneficial for him then. Wouldn’t want people to be discussing some previous rumours about him now, would we?”

And that, _that,_ makes Declan see red. He carefully puts his phone and stack of folders on the desk. He clenches his hands into fists, digs his nails in until pain blooms through his palms. As much as Declan hates his job, hates the music industry and hates having to surround himself with people like this, this is why he does it. Because Ronan loves it. And if Declan left him alone in this, to these vultures who take someone’s talent and use it and use it for their own gain… Well, Declan’s not sure he’d have a brother for long.

“I think,” he says, carefully. “That the most beneficial thing. Would be to keep all aspects of my brother’s personal life out of the media. I’m aware that he himself can make that… challenging. But in the interests of--”

“Declan,” Nancy says, and the way she cuts across him and the condescending tone she uses make him grind his teeth. “I’ve been running PR for your family since long before you even knew the meaning of public relations. This is not how we handle your family. Your father—”

Declan snaps. “Don’t bring my father into this. My father never gave a fuck about the effects his life decisions would have on anyone else, least of all on Ronan. You can tell me all you want about how you used to do things for him, but I am telling you now how we’re doing things. My father ended up dead because he couldn’t give up living the rock and roll lifestyle people like you expected him to live. I am not having my brother end up the same way.”

Declan’s got another meeting in half an hour, but on his way out of the building, he texts his PA to ask her to send his apologies. It’s the last thing he does before he turns his phone off. _Unprofessional,_ he thinks, but finds that right now, he doesn’t really care.

Declan doesn’t have a plan of where he’s going, he just walks and walks until he finds himself outside the Met.

He can’t say how long he spends, sat inside the Met, but when he leaves it’s dark and when he leaves, he’s sorted himself out enough to be able to turn his phone back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Declan, for carrying the plot...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and once again, I can only apologise for the filth. Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you your day would get better,” Blue says, when Adam sits down opposite her at breakfast.  
> “You did. You were right, as usual,” Adam says. Blue preens. “Thank you for not leaving him the wrong room key.”  
> “If it was just a favour for him, I definitely would have. Where is the asshole anyway?”  
> “Oh I left him tied to the bed. Why?” Adam says, conversationally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left a comment or kudos or sent me a message about this fic!! They've honestly made me so happy!!!  
> I very much hope that this chapter is worth the slightly longer than usual wait... Normally when I start a chapter I've got like, the bones for it and all I have to do is flesh it out but as of last Saturday I had like... One scene for this chapter? 
> 
> Also, Do Not ask me about logistics. I have given up; the spreadsheet didn’t work out.

“I told you your day would get better,” Blue says, when Adam sits down opposite her at breakfast.

“You did. You were right, as usual,” Adam says. Blue preens. “Thank you for not leaving him the wrong room key.”

“If it was just a favour for him, I definitely would have. Where is the asshole anyway?”

“Oh I left him tied to the bed. Why?” Adam says, conversationally.

Like he was waiting for his cue, Ronan sits down next to him. “Sargent,” he says, nodding at Blue.

“You escaped then?” Blue says, eyebrows raised sarcastically. Adam kicks her under the table. She kicks back, and _ouch,_ she’s wearing steel toe caps again. Adam makes a mental note to “accidentally” leave them at the next venue. 

“Parrish didn’t tie the knots tight enough,” he says, effortlessly joining in on the joke. “Do they have a waffle bar here? Shit, they do.” And then he’s gone again.

Blue watches him go, one eyebrow raised. “I cannot decide how I feel about that man. Asshole? Yes. The kind of asshole I could tolerate? Potentially. What are you plans for Detroit?”

Adam just looks at her, looks over at where Ronan is getting what looks like a stupid amount of waffles, and then looks back at Blue.

“For three days?” she exclaims, immediately understand Adam’s meaning.

“Technically, it’s only two days in Detroit. And it’s already 10am on the first day, so, really. It’s one and half.”

“You’re animals.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Sargent.”

“I am not jealous of that.” She looks down her nose at the massive plate of waffles Ronan has just placed on the table. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Yep,” Ronan says, with a grin, and then he digs in. It’s remarkable really, the speed at which Ronan devours the plate of waffles. Adam can’t look away, partially because he’s never seen someone eat that fast, but mostly because he’s worried Ronan’s going to choke.

“You know no one’s going to take those away right?” he says.

Ronan swallows and says, “I know. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day though, Parrish. I need the energy.” And then he winks and goes back to eating in the same abhorrent manner. Adam doesn’t know what he did wrong in a previous life to end up with someone who eats waffles like that, but whatever it was, it must’ve been bad.

*

Adam’s playing his acoustic guitar and the song he’s playing is achingly familiar to Ronan. It’s _3am_ ; it’s the same bouncy riff but Adam’s playing in acoustically down an octave, and a little slower.

“You’re making that sound creepy and depressing,” he observes. Adam’s sat across the room by the window, while Ronan languishes in the bed. There’s not a lot to do in Detroit, other than sleep, order room service and well… Ronan’s only briefly put clothes on to go out to get dinner.

Adam looks up and grins at him. “Just matching it to the lyrics.”

“Shithead. It’s not supposed to match the lyrics. Do you never listen when I talk?”

“I try not to.”

“Why are you butchering my song, anyway?”

“When we go to the UK at the end of the year, we’re doing Live Lounge at Radio 1. And I thought it would be funny…”

“Funny? Offensive more like. That song is not meant to be played acoustically. We’ve talked about this, Parrish.”

“I know, I know. It’s a sports car.”

“Not just any sports car. That song’s a fucking Bugatti Veyron.”

Adam snorts. “Bright yellow Lamborghini more like. Ostentatious as fuck.”

“What’s not ostentatious about a Bugatti?”

“You’re right. Your song’s a Bugatti Veyron, mine are all bicycles, you’re a fucking rock star, Lynch.”

“Damn right.” And then, because the thought has just occurred to him, and he’s got to ask before he thinks of a reason not to, he says, “Come to Europe.”

“Ronan,” Adam sighs. He puts his guitar down carefully and then crosses the room to Ronan.

Well, it’s out there now. Adam’s standing by the bed next to him and Ronan reaches out and pulls Adam down on top of him. “Seriously what are you even going to do when your tour finishes? Mope around and watch porn?”

“I am not going to be _watching porn_ ,” Adam says, disdainfully. He shuffles around on the bed, out of the awkward position he landed in. When he settles, he’s got one knee on either side of Ronan’s hips. “We’ve got press to do for the new single, rehearsals, preparation for the UK tour,” he lists.

“Not for the first two weeks.”

“You want me to spend my break from tour, touring?”

”Uh huh, but with me, so it’ll be better. Just like this, but with more culture than the Midwest. And you can try all the different European McDonalds foods.” Ronan thinks he’s being very persuasive.

“Wow, sex, culture, and a different McDonalds menu. How can I possibly resist?” Adam’s sarcasm says he’s not persuaded.

“Not just one different McDonald’s menu, a different McDonald’s menu in every country. That’s 12 different menus.” Ronan’s making stupid jokes and he hopes it covers up how badly he doesn’t want Adam to tell him no. “Just call the label, they’ll get some snotty intern to sort out your flights and you can watch porn and mope around in a country where you can’t speak the language.”

He can practically see the gears turning in Adam’s head. “I can’t, Ronan. I want to, but I can’t just do that.”

“Adam,” Ronan says, instead of _please._ Adam leans down and kisses him, and Ronan thinks it’s probably meant to distract him. It works as well, especially when Adam bites at his lower lip and curls his tongue into Ronan’s mouth. Ronan groans and his hands slide further up under Adam’s shirt.

“Why are you even wearing this?” Ronan asks, tugging at the shirt.

“If I come, what are PR gonna say?” Adam says in reply. Ronan was happy to drop the topic, bring it up again post-sex. But if Adam’s really going to consider it, Ronan’s going to do his best to convince him it’s a good idea.

“Bring Sargent with you. Two reasons. One, she’ll keep Gansey occupied, go on all the boring historical tours he wants to do. Two, it’ll make sense in terms of like, fucking PR bullshit. Both of you are friends with us, and you’re just having a vacation.”

“You’ve really thought about this.”

“Yeah, I made a pros and cons list,” Ronan replies, shooting for sincere.

Adam raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Literally came up with all of that on the spot,” he admits.

“That’s more like it. I’ll ask Blue, okay? We could come out for a few days. Although I’m not sure she’ll be too keen on multiple transatlantic flights this year.”

“Air miles. Money off on her next transatlantic booty call.”

Adam snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’ll convince her.” He’s looking thoughtfully at Ronan though, and Ronan desperately wants to know what’s going on inside his head. He doesn’t ask though, just rubs his thumbs across Adam’s sharp hip bones and watches his face change as he traces his fingertips over Ronan’s cheekbones and jaw.

It's a long time before either of them says anything. Ronan doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to derail Adam’s train of thought, especially if its final stop is Adam on the European tour.

Adam’s running his index finger softly back and forth over a scar above Ronan’s right eyebrow and so when he says, “What is this, Ronan?” Ronan doesn’t know what else he could be referring to.

“That? That is a scar I got from the time I tried to jump over—”

“Not the scar, dumbass. This. Me and you. I’m coming on the European tour, but am I coming because I’m your boyfriend or because…” Adam trails off. Ronan watches him search for the right words.

“Transatlantic booty call?”

“Yeah,” he says, like he really expects that to be the reason.

“Dumbass. Obviously because you’re my boyfriend.”

Adam’s answering smile is brighter than the fucking sun and Ronan surges up and tackles him to the bed with kisses.

“You’ll come to Europe then? Really?” he asks, just to check, when he’s got Adam trapped between his thighs.

“If I’m invited,” Adam says, as he twists around, trying to flip their positions back again.

“Jesus, fuck, Parrish. Want you to come so badly.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Adam laughs.

*

“I’ve gotta make a phone call,” Adam says. It’s the first thing he’s said for a while. They’ve been sat in the back lounge of the tour bus, on the way to Chicago and Ronan’s been kicking Blue’s ass at Mario Kart for the last half an hour. Adam’s been quiet, thinking about something and it’s like he’s finally come to a conclusion.

“Oh, not _that_ ,” Blue snarls, and her animated kart skitters off the edge of the track.

“Yes, that. And you wouldn’t be so terrible at this if you stopped squeezing the controller like it owes you money,” Adam says, but his heart’s not really in the joke. He leaves the room, heading for the front of the bus, as Ronan crosses the finish line. He looks away from the screen in time to see the door close behind Adam.

Blue doesn’t bother to finish the race, just thumbs the console off. She’s looking at the door, and there’s a hard look on her face that Ronan doesn’t recognise. “She doesn’t always answer,” Blue says.

“Who doesn’t?” Ronan asks, although he thinks he already knows. He’s never wanted to be wrong so badly before though.

“I’m not sure it’s something I should tell you. If Adam hasn’t told you, it’s not my thing to tell.” And although Blue doesn’t know it, she’s just told Ronan anyway.

The onset of Ronan’s anger is so sudden it actually shocks him. “Is it to do with his parents? He’s calling them, isn’t he? What the fuck?”

“Don’t get shitty with me, Lynch!”

“Well, why do you let him do it?”

“ _Let him_. Do you honestly think that I could stop him?”

“You could try!”

“Try? Don’t you think I’ve tried! Don’t you think I’ve spent fucking years of my life trying to show him that they’re not worth it. But he thinks they’re the only family he’s got.”

A cold pit has opened in Ronan’s stomach, and his anger drops in like a stone. He thinks about seeing Adam at the Henrietta show, surrounded by all of Blue’s family, how well he fitted with them. He thinks about how Blue is Adam’s sister, as much as Ronan thinks of Gansey as his brother.

“But they’re not,” he says, stupidly.

“You and I can see that. And he knows it, on some level. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s the one that gave birth to him. And he thinks that means something, and I don’t think it’s up to you or me to say it shouldn’t.”

“I don’t like it.” He can’t stand it, can’t stand the thought that Adam’s giving time to someone who should’ve protected him and didn’t.

“You don’t have to like it. You have to accept it, or I’ll get them to pull the bus over and dump you by the side of the road.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. And I wouldn’t regret it. Not even when Gansey called me to ask why you were stuck in the middle of nowhere in Michigan.”

Ronan believes her. It’s not the first time he’s been threatened with being left behind at a truckstop and Ronan has no plans to make it the last, so he doubts Gansey would blame her.

And besides,” Blue says. “If I had the power to stop him from doing things, calling his mother wouldn’t even be first thing on the list.”

“Stubborn bastard,” Ronan says.

Blue snorts. “You don’t need to tell me that,” she says and then punches Ronan in the shoulder.

“Jesus Sargent, your tiny fists hurt.”

“Oh, grow up.” She kicks her feet up into his lap and reaches behind herself for her ukulele. It’s sunshine yellow, and someone’s drawn a cartoon smiley face on it.

Ronan raises an eyebrow at it as she starts to play. “I didn’t realise they made guitars in your size.”

“You’re such a shithead. I cannot believe I let him bring you on tour.”

“I didn’t think you could stop him doing things?” Ronan smirks at her. “You didn’t even try. You helped, even.”

“And don’t I regret it,” she says, but she’s grinning.

“Show me how to play that thing then,” Ronan says. It’s a fucking tiny guitar, it’s not gonna be hard.

*

Adam isn’t gone long. He comes back in and stands in the doorway. Ronan can’t read the expression on his face. He’s guarded; a house with doors locked and shutters snapped shut. Ronan knows there’s still a warm light on inside though. There has to be. He needs there to be.

“Come on then, let’s have it,” Adam says to Blue, careful monotone.

“I’m not going to say anything. You already know how I feel,” she says, as she stands up. “I’m going to call Gansey.”

Once the door shuts again after Blue, Adam turns to Ronan. “I guess I’m about to find out how you feel.”

There are a million things that Ronan could say right now, and they all flash through his head, a tornado of awful things he wants to say about Adam’s parents. That Adam shouldn’t even give them the time of day, that they could have ruined his career before it even started, that he’s better off without them in his life at all. But instead, he thinks about what Blue said.

Adam’s still watching him, and he looks braced for a fight. But Ronan just says, “How I feel doesn’t matter. I don’t think it’s got anything to do with me.”

Adam visibly deflates. He collapses onto the couch next to Ronan and puts his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He doesn’t say anything, for a really long time. The doors of the house are still locked, and Ronan won’t force his way in. Instead, he watches Adam, waits for him to say something, until he gets bored of waiting.

He picks Blue’s abandoned ukulele up and starts playing the most annoying songs he can think of. Plays the the stupidest, most repetitive stuff, stuff guaranteed to get stuck in his head for days.

Instead of telling him to knock it off, when Adam lifts his head from his hands, he says, “I wish I didn’t care. I wish I didn’t give a fuck. Every time I call, I keep waiting for her to say something that I know she’s never going to say.”

Ronan puts the ukulele down. The murder squash song doesn’t work very well on it, and this conversation doesn’t need background music to be tense.

Adam continues. He’s speaking in the same monotone as before, still not trying to betray his emotions, but Ronan can hear the hairline fractures in it. “Sometimes I wish that they would be awful. That they would demand money, or they would threaten to go to the press or--. Just anything. Then I’d have a reason not to hope. But this. It’s just--. Anything would be better than this _apathy._ ”

Ronan doesn’t think he’s ever been this blindingly angry at two people he’s never met. He doesn’t know what to do with his anger, doesn’t know where to put it, can’t show it to Adam, and he can’t expend it as energy, not on a tour bus on a Michigan highway.

“Are you going to say anything?” Adam finally looks at him. Ronan doesn’t know why he ever thought Adam was closed off from him. He doesn’t remember when Adam gave him the keys, but he’s already inside.

“I don’t think I should. If say what I really think, you won’t like it.” Ronan’s sure Adam already knows what he thinks.

“I think I’ve probably heard it all before anyway,” Adam says. He looks meaningfully at the back lounge door.

“Probably,” Ronan agrees. “So you don’t need to hear it again. What do you want?”

Adam nods, and then he says, “I just need to do something right.”

There’s definitely one way of expending energy on this bus. “Do you wanna fuck?”

“Smooth, Lynch.”

*

Tour bus bunks, Adam muses, were barely designed to contain one adult man. Two is definitely stretching the limits of what is feasibly possible. But here they are anyway, crammed into the tiny space that Adam’s been jokingly calling his bedroom since they first got the bus. He’s not complaining; it’s definitely a step up from sleeping on the floor of the shitbox campervan, waking up with Blue’s freezing toes between his thighs.

It's definitely an improvement right now, when he’s got the entirety of Ronan Lynch between his thighs. They aren’t even doing anything that bad, yet.

Blue’s still on the phone to Gansey, but as she ambles through from the front of the bus to the back, she pulls back the shitty thin curtain that serves as Adam’s bedroom door. She clears her throat pointedly, and without looking inside, says, “If you are going to have sex in there, please do not make enough noise that I have to hear it. I’m still on the phone to Gansey, and I swear to whatever deities are listening that if I hear any sound from either of you that is even remotely sexual, I will castrate you both.”

Ronan moans. Ronan makes the most drawn out, deeply sexual sound Adam has ever heard him make. And Adam’s heard him make a lot of those.

“Hi Ronan.” Gansey’s voice comes out of Blue’s phone. Adam very carefully decides not to think about why Gansey recognises Ronan by that sound in particular. It was coincidental, probably. Ronsey stans have got him messed up.

“I know you think she isn’t being serious. But she really, really is,” Adam hisses.

“I really am, Lynch.”

“Like I’m scared of you, maggot,” Ronan says.

“You should be,” Blue says, threateningly, and then she disappears into the back lounge, taking her noise cancelling headphones with her.

“What I got from that,” Ronan says. “Is that we have permission to have sex in here.”

“I’m gonna make you make that sound again,” an ugly, jealous part of Adam says. He bends down and kisses down the side of Ronan’s neck. There’s a fading bruise where his neck meets his shoulder and Adam sets his teeth to it, deepens it.

“I thought you said I should take that threat seriously?” Ronan says. Adam thinks he was aiming for teasing, but that was clearly derailed by Adam’s mouth on his throat.

“You should take both threats seriously,” Adam whispers, darkly, as he skims his teeth along Ronan’s jaw.

Ronan swallows and then he says, “I think you’re both full of shit.”

Instead of continuing this stupid conversation, Adam kisses Ronan hard. He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth and bites down gently on it at first and then harder, after Ronan makes a soft encouraging noise into his mouth.

Ronan’s hands are all over Adam’s back, sliding up his t-shirt and down his sweatpants to grope his ass. Adam grabs his hands, pins his wrists down either side of his head.

“What do you need, Adam?” Ronan whispers. He looks so pale, almost ghostly in the hazy blue light filtering into the bunk. Adam wants to take him apart, make a mess of him and make him feel good, and do it _right._

“Just you,” Adam says. The phone call with his mother is still playing like a record in his head and Adam wants to play something else, take that record off the turntable and smash it against a wall. Never hear, _“Well. Thank you for calling, Adam,”_ and then the tone of the dropped connection, ever again.

He focusses instead on that weird, jealous feeling that had come after Ronan’s fake moan. Of all the emotions churning about inside him, those seem like the most likely actually get them both off.

Adam hovers above Ronan, pins his wrists to the pillow and locks his knees around Ronan’s hips. Ronan strains upwards to keep taking biting kisses from Adam’s mouth. He can’t keep his hips from grinding downwards, desperately seeking friction from Ronan’s body moving below him.

“Is there even gonna be enough space to do this?” Ronan asks.

“Turn over,” is all Adam says in reply. He raises himself up enough for Ronan to roll over underneath him, and when Adam relaxes back down, his hardening cock lines up perfectly with the cleft of Ronan’s glorious ass.

He pushes Ronan’s shirt up, until all that magnificent, tattooed skin is revealed to him. Adam traces his fingers along the lines of the tattoo, from where it curves around the base of Ronan’s neck. He skims his fingers along where it wraps around Ronan’s rib cage; Ronan shudders slightly beneath him. Adam follows the stark lines across Ronan’s pale skin to where they disappear beneath the waistband of Ronan’s sweatpants.

“If there was space in here, I’d put my mouth on you. Follow the lines of your tattoo with my tongue until I get all the way down here.” To illustrate his point, Adam follows one sweeping line all the way down and then, when it ends, he slides that same finger across slightly, then right down the cleft of Ronan’s ass. “If we had the space, I’d eat you out, until you were wet and loose and begging.” There isn’t space though, which is a pity really, because Adam _wants._

They’ve just spent three days in a hotel room, doing little else other than sex, but Adam’s still not satisfied. He can’t believe sometimes how desperate the animal inside him is for Ronan. Wants Ronan on his knees, wants him wet and ready for Adam to take whenever he wants. He wants Ronan to have him too, wants to feel Ronan’s cock inside him, to be able to remember for days after what it was like to be the focus of his intensity.

Getting their clothes completely off proves to be the most challenging part. Adam narrowly avoids an elbow to the face, but he does hit his head on the top of the bunk when he’s taking off his shirt. Ronan laughs at him, but then he nearly falls out of the bunk himself, when he’s kicking his pants off.

“Karma,” Adam says, as he pulls Ronan back in to kiss him. Sex with Ronan is nothing like anything Adam’s ever had before. It’s so much hotter, but it’s also fun, and Adam feels a connection to Ronan that he’s never felt with anyone else. The way they feedback to each other, the way they both move on instinct; it’s euphoric.

There’s a tube of lube somewhere in the bunk and while Adam rummages around for it, Ronan settles back on his front, head pillowed on his arms and his legs spread invitingly.

“Haven’t got all day, Parrish. We’ll be in Chicago soon and I’m not—”

Adam never finds out what Ronan’s not, because he chokes on a moan instead when Adam slides a lubed up finger straight into his tight ass. He’s still a little loose from where he’d fucked himself on Adam’s cock that morning, so he takes the second finger easily.

Adam ends up with three fingers deep inside Ronan and he can almost feel what the perfect clench of his ass around his cock will be like. He’s so ready for that, but he remembers his weird jealousy from before, and his desire to do this right. He keeps going, keeps crooking his fingers inside Ronan, wants to drive him crazy with it. Ronan’s pushing back against his fingers, trying to take more of him in. His legs are spread as far as the bunk will allow and he keeps making these bitten off moans, like he’s trying to stay quiet, but can’t manage it.

“If you can’t be quiet, I’ll have to gag you,” Adam whispers darkly to him.

Ronan comes. He isn’t loud, like he normally is. His moan is choked out and half muffled in the pillow he turns his head into.

“Oh fuck,” Adam says, quietly. He doesn’t know what to do, he’s stuck in complete awe of Ronan. Can’t believe he came, just from Adam’s fingers and his cock rubbing against the rough cotton bedsheets. Adam stills his fingers and asks, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Ronan breathes. “Fuck me now.”

“Fuck you now? When you’re like this?” Adam didn’t think he could get any more turned on, but he’s learnt the last few days, few months even, that anything is possible with Ronan. He keeps talking, keeps rubbing his fingers slowly inside Ronan. “You’re all sensitive from coming. Can’t believe you came so quickly, just from my fingers in you. Wasn’t even touching your cock.”

Ronan actually whines, muffled into the pillows, as Adam slides his fingers out and his cock in. There’s not a lot of space above him, he’s constrained by the height of the bunk and so Ronan has to spread his thighs wider to accommodate him. Adam ends up plastered all along his back, one hand gripping underneath Ronan’s thigh, holding him right where Adam wants him. He slides his other hand up the bunk until he finds one of Ronan’s hands, and he tangles his fingers with Ronan’s on the pillow.

“Can’t believe you came, just like that. You’re amazing. You gonna tell me what made you come? Because I don’t think it was just my fingers, was it?”

Ronan whines again, louder this time, and he clenches around Adam’s cock.

Adam grunts at the pressure and he starts to thrust, moving as best as he can in the tight space. He tries to control himself, keep his movements even, keep the rhythm steady, because he knows Ronan will be sensitive. But it’s hard; it’s hard not to give into the urge to fuck hard and fast, the urge to just recklessly take.

“Was it what I said? About how if you can’t be quiet, I’ll gag you?” Adam tries to distract himself, by talking again, but it doesn’t work for long because his words have Ronan squeezing and writhing beneath him, trying to rub his steadily hardening cock against the sheets again.

Adam untangles his fingers from Ronan’s. He’s planning to reach for Ronan’s cock, jerk him off, and make him come again. Adam wants to feel him lose it while he’s buried inside him. Instead, Ronan tightens his grip and brings Adam’s hand up to his mouth. He sucks two of Adam’s fingers between his lips.

“Fuck, look at you. You really want that, don’t you? Want me to gag you. If I did, I wouldn’t have to listen to your backchat. But I wouldn’t be able to hear when you beg me. And I love hearing that.” Adam thrusts his fingers in deeper, slides them across Ronan’s tongue like he does with his cock. Ronan sucks hard at them, hollowing his cheeks, like he’s really sucking cock. “You love it when I do this to you, don’t you?”

Ronan moans desperately around his fingers. Adam knows it’s in agreement, he’s had his fingers in Ronan’s mouth more times than he can recall now. When he’s fucking Ronan, yes, but also when Ronan’s fucked him. He’s reached down and slid them into Ronan’s ass too, when his mouth is too full of cock. He tells Ronan about that now, about how well he takes it when Adam gives him everything.

Ronan’s groans are muffled by Adam’s fingers, and as much as he knows that Ronan loves this, Adam wants to hear him properly. When Adam slides his fingers out, he leaves a wet trail across Ronan’s face. “Please, Adam. C’mon. I want it, I want you to fuck me,” Ronan pants out, and he sounds wrecked already.

“I am fucking you,” Adam says, and to prove it, he draws his cock out slowly, and then thrusts back in, just as slowly. He’s still in control of himself. Just about.

“Hard.”

Adam’s control had been hanging on by a thread, but at that, he loses it. His hips are snapping down into Ronan and he desperately hopes that Blue’s still got her headphones on, or that she won’t make good on her threat.

He reaches up underneath Ronan, wraps his hand around his cock. “Come on, come again for me. I want to feel you come again. You’re gonna do that for me, right?”

Adam’s got his hand on Ronan’s cock and he’s talking about Ronan’s orgasm, but really he’s only thinking about his own, can’t stop his hips from doing what they need to and he’s coming before he’s even aware he was about to. He squeezes his eyes shut as he comes, only sees white and he distantly hears himself choke out _Ronan._

When he’s recovered, he withdraws his cock, and replaces it with his fingers. He slides two straight in, and they go in so easy, Ronan’s so wet inside. “God, your ass. Do you like this? Feeling how I’ve used you? I do. I like knowing I’m the one who’s done this to you. You’re such a mess Ronan. Just for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, Adam. Please,” Ronan pants. He says it over and over, _Adam_ and _please,_ as Adam coaxes him to orgasm again, with his fingers inside him and his hand around his cock.

“You’re so amazing,” Adam says, and he kisses Ronan again, softly.

“I know,” Ronan replies, and he’s looking smug.

*

They’re sleeping on the bus tonight and Ronan knows he should climb up into the empty bunk above Adam’s. He’s in for an uncomfortable night if he doesn’t, it’s already starting to get uncomfortable. It’s hot, every place his skin meets Adam’s is already sticky with sweat. Adam’s hair is tickling his nose. It’s awful and it’s perfect.

“I’ve just gotta know. And then I’ll drop it forever. Why do you do it?” he says. Ronan doesn’t give himself time to think about whether the question is a bad idea or not. He just has to know.

“Do what?”

“Call her?” Can’t bring himself to say _your mother._

“She asked me to. I don’t know why she did. But she asked me to, and I’ll do it until she asks me to stop, or she stops answering.”

Ronan doesn’t know what to say to that. He kisses the top of Adam’s head instead and then rests his chin on the spot he just kissed.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Adam says, and there’s no emotion in his voice again, like he doesn’t want to influence Ronan’s response.

“I’m thinking…” Ronan choses his words carefully. “That you’re a little fucked up, Parrish.” Okay, maybe not that carefully. “I mean, I had my suspicions since I found out about the storage locker, but… jeez, you’re a mess.”

Adam laughs, which is a relief. “Takes one to know one,” he says, with a grin. Ronan walked right into that.

“I should go get in the other bunk,” he sighs, reluctantly.

“Don’t. Please, just, stay here.”

It’s a bad idea, one that they’ll both regret. But Ronan can’t say no, and more to the point, he doesn’t want to.

He’s almost asleep, sweaty and uncomfortable as he is, when thinks of what he does want to tell Adam.

“They’re not your only family,” he whispers. Adam doesn’t reply, and Ronan thinks it’s probably because he’s already asleep.

*

It’s not until the tour bus is actually rolling into Chicago in the early morning that Ronan realises his mistake. It’s St Patrick’s Day tomorrow. And he’s going to be here still. In Chicago, of all places. He might as well be in Dublin.

If Ronan’s acting weird about it though, no one comments. He trails Adam and Blue around the city, sits moodily in the background of their interviews. Blue comments that it’s like they’ve got an additional member of the security team, so he takes to hanging out with them instead. If anyone at the radio stations notices, nobody says anything about his presence.

If anyone’s acting noticeably weird, it’s Adam. He keeps glancing at the Shamrock decorations like they’ve offended him. He vanishes a couple of times as well, and the one time Ronan follows him, he finds him in the smoking area of the Chicago venue, talking on the phone to someone.

When Ronan approaches, he hears Adam say, “That all sounds perfect. Thank you so much.” He glances at Ronan. “I have to go now. Great. Yeah, thanks again. Bye.”

“Who was that?”

“Nothing, no one. Are you good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” _I’d be better if you told me what was going on,_ he doesn’t say. Ronan’s got his suspicions that it’s about Europe. If Adam’s decided he doesn’t want to come though, Ronan thinks he’d probably just tell him straight. Maybe it’s Sargent, maybe she doesn’t want to. She’s out the front of the venue right now, chatting with fans. It’s a good chance to ask Adam without her overhearing.

“Parrish, have you asked Sargent—”

“Gonna have to get changed in a bit,” Adam interrupts. “Do you want to come hang out in the green room? It’s too cold out here.”

 _Fucking weird,_ Ronan thinks. Inside, he sits on the cracked leather sofa, eats one of the yogurts Sargent asked for on their rider, and surreptitiously watches Adam change.

“What were you gonna say about Blue?” Adam asks, as he pulls up his suspenders. Ronan hates those things; he wants to burn them. Wants Adam to tie him up with them too. He has very conflicting feelings about Adam’s suspenders.

“Did you ask her about Europe?”

Adam’s faffing about with his in ear monitor pack, trying to clip it to his belt and feed the wire down the back of shirt at the same time. “What? Oh yeah, she’s got some things to sort out, but she said she’ll come too.”

Ronan watches him try to reach around find the earpieces for a minute longer before he gets up to help him. He takes the dud earpiece for Adam’s left ear between his fingers and gently positions it in Adam’s ear. He lets his fingers trail lightly around the shell of it as they slide away. He can feel Adam’s gaze on his face the whole time and when he meets Adam’s eyes, there’s so much written there, that all the time in the world wouldn’t be enough to read it all.

They’ve barely got five minutes. Ronan pecks him on the lips, and says, “Shake a leg, Parrish. World’s weirdest music isn’t going to play itself.”

“Actually, what with the technology available these days, it kind of does,” Adam says, moving away and reclining against the wall by the door. Blue’s back in the room now, and she’s already changed but she blusters about sorting out her own in-ears.

“Not much of a performance though, is it?”

“Of course, I forgot I was talking to Ronan ‘Music is Art’ Lynch. Everything’s a performance with you,” Adam replies, smirking back at him, as they follow Blue and the stage manager out of the green room and down towards the stage.

“All the world’s a stage.”

“And you are the Shakespeare of modern rock.”

“Hey, you’re the one that said it.” Ronan grabs Adam quickly, before he can strap on his guitar and kisses him, hard, fast and deep. “Have a good one.”

Adam grins, wide and easy and so fucking perfect. Ronan feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. He’s spent so much time with Adam now, and still, every time Adam smiles at him like that, the feeling is the same as the first time.

Ronan watches the show from the balcony, with some of the tour management team. The show’s great; the venue is a lot bigger than the one he’d seen them perform in in Henrietta, but they fill it just as well, if not better.

Blue’s got so much energy on stage, and watching how Adam takes that, uses it too and keeps them on beat, is so incredible to watch. Adam makes his snide comments and cracks his stupid jokes too, and it’s obvious that every pretentious hipster in the place is in love with him. Ronan can’t say he blames them.

Ronan snaps a photo of his view of the stage and tweets it. He’s only thinking about Adam’s reaction to his teasing. He’s definitely not thinking about what Declan said about not making it public that he’s with Adam. For once, Ronan isn’t even wilfully ignoring Declan’s requests; he just flat-out forgets.

Ronan Lynch: @pageofcupsband worst beatles tribute act ever.

*

It’s the early evening, the night after the Page of Cups Chicago show and Ronan’s got one more night with Adam. One more night, and he’s apparently going to spend it lamenting his own sobriety. Sargent and the tour crew have already left the hotel to go and do all the things Ronan wishes he could do.

Adam didn’t even look regretful when they left though. He’s probably glad he’s got to babysit Ronan, Ronan thinks, bitterly. Adam actually looks a bit uncharacteristically nervous now though, and for some reason he’s wearing shoes and a nice shirt. Not one of his Adam ParrishTM shirts, but still, a nice one.

“Come on, put on your shoes. Come with me,” Adam says.

“Adam, I really don’t want to go out anywhere.”

“And we’re not. Just trust me,” Adam says. And Ronan does.

He lets Adam lead him along the hotel corridor, and he watches, slightly confused, but still trusting, when Adam presses the button to go up instead of down at the elevator.

Once it’s arrived, and they’re inside, Ronan watches him press another button on the keypad. “Pool? Damn Parrish, are we going skinny dipping?”

“No. It’s a surprise,” Adam says, and he looks so damn pleased with himself.

“On the roof? I don’t think I trust rooftop surprises you know.”

“I think you should,” Adam replies, as the elevator announces their arrival. Ronan follows Adam out the elevator and through automatic doors onto the rooftop terrace.

The whole terrace is lit with strings of round, orange lights and they reflect in the black floor tiles and combine with the twinkling Chicago skyline to give the illusion that they’ve stepped off the roof and into space. The rooftop pool glows unnaturally blue and the view out across the city is breath-taking. Ronan can hear the sounds of parties and drunken revellers in the distance, but he’s so far away, so far above it all that it’s like it’s happening on a different planet.

He looks at Adam, wants to see how floating in space suits his otherworldly boy. Adam’s always the most breath-taking thing to Ronan anyway. In the coloured lights, it’s like he can see every version of Adam he’s ever known all at once. He can’t believe that he hadn’t been able to see all of Adam as soon as he’d met him, can’t believe there was ever a time when he didn’t _know_ Adam like he knows him now.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to go out anywhere, but I’m sick of eating room service and fast food,” Adam says, and he gestures awkwardly to the bar area, where one of the tables is laid for two.

“Damn, Parrish. Did you hire the whole rooftop?”

“No, I—” Adam’s blushing; the tips of his ears are scarlet. “They only use the restaurant up here in the day and then evenings in the summer, so it’s not like we’re kicking anyone out. I didn’t think you’d want to be around other people.”

“Well, it’s pretty fucking romantic.” He’s struck then, with the thought that as well as he knows Adam, Adam knows him too. The thought lights his insides on fire, makes him want to throw himself in the pool.

Adam smirks. “That too.”

“Is this what I get now? Because if you keep treating me like this, I’ll come to expect it,” Ronan jokes. He lets Adam lead him around the edge of the pool to the table.

“God forbid the son of an international rock legend become spoilt,” Adam snarks. It’s a fair point, Ronan concedes, but before he can say that, the hotel concierge has materialised.

With her, she brings a room service cart, and leaves it next to the table. She disappears as smoothly as she’d arrived and then he and Adam are alone again.

“Thought you didn’t want room service food?” Ronan says, cheekily.

“This is from the restaurant, asshole.”

“So is room service.”

“Shut up and eat your damn dinner, Lynch,” Adam says, but he’s laughing.

“Oh, how quickly the romance fades,” Ronan says, laughing too.

Adam flips him off.

*

Adam watches Ronan lick the last of the chocolate sauce off of the back of his spoon and thinks about how much he’s looking forward to being in their big, soft bed downstairs.

The concierge is back, to clear away their plates, Adam presumes. He stands and holds his hand out to Ronan. Ronan takes it, interlocks their fingers, and Adam leads them back across the roof terrace, skirting around the edge of the pool. Ronan tugs suddenly at his hand though, and when Adam turns, he’s smirking.

The blue glow of the pool lights from below, blend with the orange bulbs glowing above them, to light Ronan up like a blowtorch flame. He looks unreal and the dangerous spark in his eyes is magic. Adam watches, enthralled, as Ronan gives him a mischievous grin and cannonballs, fully clothed, into the pool.

Adam looks at the concierge in panic, but she smiles, as if she’d predicted Ronan’s actions. Maybe she had, maybe she’s magic too. Everything feels that way tonight. “I’ll go get some towels,” she says, and like that, they’re alone again.

Ronan’s resurfaced. “Come on, Parrish,” he shouts. “Don’t be boring.”

Adam steps closer to the edge, so the water is almost lapping the tips of his shoes. Ronan swims towards him, grinning like a shark. “You can’t just do something like that,” Adam hisses, when he’s close enough.

“Just did.” Ronan floats on his back. “They don’t care, hotels like this. Rich fuckers come here all the time. ‘ _I want to swim at 2am,’_ and they let you. Show them you’ve got enough money and you can do whatever you like.”

 _That’s awful,_ Blue’s voice says in his head. Adam agrees. He knew this was a bad idea, getting the roof terrace restaurant for a meal. He’d justified it to himself, _they’re not using it; it’s for Ronan; it was the concierge’s idea, you were happy with a function room._ Adam really doesn’t want to become _that guy._ But. One night isn’t going to change who he fundamentally is, is it?

“Stop debating ethics and get in the fucking pool, Parrish. It’s warmer than standing there in the wind.”

“So is my bed,” he retorts.

Adam should’ve seen it coming, really. He’s right by the edge of the pool, and Ronan’s floating just there. But still, when the splash comes, he’s caught off guard.

“Asshole,” he snaps at Ronan. His shirt is clinging to him and when another gust of wind comes, icy needles prickle all over his stomach. Ronan’s laughter rings around him.

Adam doesn’t say anything to Ronan as he drops his phone on the bench seat behind him, and toes off his shoes. He takes his jeans off too, knows how awkward they’ll be to walk in when they’re wet, and he doesn’t want to ruin them.

The water is warm, but it’s still a shock when he hits it. The pool is deep enough too that Adam’s completely submerged by his jump. When he comes back up, he can’t hear anything at all and has to shake his head to clear the water from his good ear, until the sound of Ronan’s delighted laugh matches his deliriously happy face. Adam laughs too, just because. Because it’s the middle of the night and he’s floating around in the rooftop pool of a fancy Chicago hotel. Because he can’t believe that this is his life. Because he’s with Ronan. Because he’s happy.

They float together towards the shallow end, to where they can both stand. The cold wind gives Adam goosebumps on his shoulders and he shudders when a trickle of water runs out of his bad ear, but it’s all inconsequential compared to the heat of Ronan’s mouth on his. Adam wants to bottle this moment, this night, this feeling. Wants to feel this way over and over for the rest of his life.

*

Back in their room, Adam demands that they have a proper shower to wash the chlorine off. Ronan complains about it, but then he fucks Adam against the shower wall. Adam’s loud moans echoing around them; water droplets sliding down smooth, tanned skin. Ronan forgets why he’d ever complain.

Adam’s practically asleep by the time they get into bed. When Ronan slides in next to him, Adam rolls over until he’s got his head pillowed on Ronan’s chest. Ronan presses his cheek to the top of Adam’s head.

“I don’t want to leave you tomorrow,” Ronan says.

Adam sighs. “Yeah, you do. You love your band.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t going to hurt though,” Ronan concedes. Adam’s fallen asleep, he thinks, but there are words bubbling up inside Ronan. He doesn’t try to swallow them, just lets them flow out, like they always seem to with Adam. “I feel like I’m leaving little bits of me all over the place. Tiny shards that chip off every time I have to leave you. Here, Miami. Philadelphia, DC, Henrietta. Could draw a map of all the places I’ve splintered parts of me off because of you.”

“No,” Adam slurs, and shit, Ronan didn’t know he was actually still awake. “It’s not breaking, I’m just keeping ‘em safe. And you’ve got all my pieces. And you keep them for me, and we’re both okay, nothing hurts.” He’s clearly so nearly asleep that he can’t check his accent anymore. Tiny drops of Henrietta sunshine sprinkle across his words, like light through the stained glass windows of St Agnes. Everything about him reminds Ronan of home. “We fit,” Adam says, and his fingers tighten on Ronan’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah we do.” Ronan feels like he’s going to burst. Adam’s half asleep rambling doesn’t make a lot of sense, but Ronan gets it. He’s already invincible, and so is Adam, but this is a place where neither of them has to be.

“You can take me when you go, and I’ll keep you here,” Adam murmurs into Ronan’s skin. Ronan feels it reverberate through him, like a tattoo on his soul.

It’s a king size bed, but they sleep tangled up in each other like they had in the tour bus bunk.

*

Declan storms into the abandoned warehouse they’re filming in, about halfway through the shoot. Ronan’s on a break, while they’re shooting solo shots of Noah drumming. Ronan only notices Declan because he’s charging across the room towards him like a bull to a red flag.

“Dad’s working, sweetie,” he says when Declan’s in earshot. He watches Declan’s jaw set and thinks maybe of the two of them, Ronan is the bull.

“I’ll be brief then,” Declan says, all false professionalism in front of the runners and music video crew. It’s a stupid power play, one of those horrible music industry ones that mean Ronan can’t refuse him without looking incredibly unreasonable. Declan’s grip on Ronan’s arm as he hauls him across to an unoccupied corner of the warehouse is definitely not professional though, so Ronan thinks he’s entitled to be unreasonable.

Ronan throws his hand off. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I want to know, what the fuck you were thinking?” Declan snarls. “So much for not using your relationship for PR.”

“What the shit are you talking about?”

“That fucking tweet, Ronan. Either you don’t have a public relationship with Parrish, or you do. There is no in between here.”

Ronan doesn’t think an ‘ _I forgot’_ is going to cut it here. “I thought this was the in between. I thought that being his friend was the in between. Are you telling me I can’t be friends with him now? Because a couple of months ago, I was being forced to be.”

“Jesus fucking Mary, Ronan. I don’t give a fuck who you’re friends with. I don’t give a fuck if you’re more than friends with him. Just for the love of God, and I cannot believe I’m having to tell you this. Keep the evidence of your secret relationship _off of fucking Twitter._ ”

“Secret relationship.” Ronan scoffs. “It’s not a secret relationship.” There’s no version of Ronan who would want to keep his relationship with Adam a secret.

“Well in that case, I’ll be expecting your press release package on that any day now. Seeing as you’re apparently the PR manager for your relationship.”

“You just make it sound so… sordid. And don’t make that face, I know what that word means,” he says, at Declan’s frown.

“Look. I just don’t want to keep reading speculation about my family’s personal lives all over Buzzfeed. And you’re a little asshole, but I don’t want—”

“Yeah. I get it. It won’t happen again. I’ll talk to Parrish and we’ll… work something out.” Ronan doesn’t know what yet, but apparently, they’ve got work out something. “You know he’s coming to Europe, right?”

Ronan watches with glee as the blood drains from Declan’s face. “Do you want me to have a heart attack before I’m thirty? Is that what you’re trying to do to me?”

*

London’s shit. It’s grey and it’s barely stopped raining since they landed. The jet lag is killer and Ronan swings wildly between being so tired he can’t function and so awake that he can’t burn his energy off fast enough. The former always happens in the middle of the day, and the latter in the middle of the night, when the only other person awake is Gansey.

He doesn’t know what time it is. The sky is the colour of a deep bruise and Ronan doesn’t know whether the sun’s supposed to be rising or setting; his body clock is so fucked. The clouds hang low and heavy, threatening to rain again.

“This is shit. This is the worst fucking thing.” Ronan feels like his skin is too small, stretched too tight across his bones. He wants to scream. He wants to run, wants to fight. Most of all, he wants to drink until he can’t feel anything at all, until there’s nothing _to_ feel. Picking a fight feels like the easiest option. Gansey is right there, so he says, “Everyone like me is dead.”

“Ronan,” Gansey says, and it sounds like _don’t be so dramatic._ “You’re just having a bad day.”

“A bad day?” His laugh is a bitter, jackal laugh. “You think this is me having a bad day? God fucking dammit Gansey. This is an awful day. This is the worst shitting day I’ve had in ages.”

“You’ve had good ones then,” Gansey points out. “You’re getting better.”

“Fuck _better._ Do you think that this was just one bad day amongst a whole string of good ones? Because it’s not, it’s a fucking awful day in a fucking shitstorm of bad ones. There is not a single day that goes by that I don’t fucking think about it, and every day that I do nothing, I’m trying and sometimes trying is easy and sometimes it’s the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done.”

“Ronan I—”

“I don’t expect you to get it.” He flops down on the bed, mattress bouncing with the impact. The energy and the urge to fight has rushed out of him as quickly as it arrived, and now he just feels shitty and sad. Empty. Fuck, he misses Adam. 

Gansey goes back to scribbling in his leather bound journal, like Ronan’s outburst hadn’t happened. Maybe it hadn’t. Gansey’s frantic writing reminds Ronan of the song he finished on the plane from Chicago to New York. Maybe this frustration isn’t constructive, but there’s evidence that sober Ronan isn’t a total creative wasteland. His therapist is always telling him to focus on positives.

He fishes the composition pad he’d written it in out of his bag and slaps it on the bed next to Gansey.

“Here. I wrote a song.”

Gansey looks up at him, like he’d forgotten Ronan was there. “A whole song?”

“It’s got a melody, it’s got a beat, and it’s got fucking lyrics so yeah. A whole song.”

“Lyrics?” Gansey picks up the pad and frowns at it. Whatever he thinks of the song, he’s clearly just relieved the argument’s over without anything being broken. “You wrote this in Chicago?”

Ronan shrugs. “Finished it.”

“With Adam?”

“Nah. He hasn’t seen it.”

“Huh.” Gansey’s running his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip. “It’s about him?”

“Might be.” Ronan watches Gansey pick up his mechanical pencil and scratch something in the margin of one page. “So if you try to shoehorn any female pronouns into that—”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Gansey says, tonelessly.

“Good. That song is gay as fuck, okay?”

“Maybe you should sing it then.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

Gansey’s still reading and suddenly Ronan feels vulnerable, especially when Gansey says, “I didn’t realise you, um… Felt this way about Adam.”

Ronan doesn’t lie to Gansey, and he certainly doesn’t keep secrets from him anymore. But this feels like he’s showing Gansey something that up until now only Adam has seen. And that’s a weird thought. A year ago, Ronan would have said there could never be anyone who knows him like Gansey knows him.

Gansey’s got notes for him on the song, and then they’re working on it together, properly. It doesn’t feel like a Nightwash song, but Ronan thinks it goes well with what they’re recording in London. Vulnerable lyrics, and room in the music to let the words breath. Dammit, Parrish, Ronan thinks.

*

Later, when the lights are out and he’s confirmed that yes, the sun was setting, Ronan is lying awake still, and he’s thinking, as usual, about Adam. Gansey’s decided to charge into battle against his insomnia, but Ronan knows he’s losing. He’s restlessly shifting around in the bed, keeps huffing like he can’t get comfortable.

“Gansey,” Ronan says. “Gansey. Gansey.”

“What?” Gansey snaps.

“Nothing,” Ronan replies, and he grins at the ceiling.

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Gansey,” Ronan says again, just to be a shit. “Dick. Dick. Dick Gansey. Gansey.”

“What, Ronan?”

“Nothing.”

Gansey grumbles, like the old man he is, then his bed creaks as he rolls out and climbs into Ronan’s.

“See this is why people think we’re in a relationship,” Ronan says, as he rolls over to Gansey.

“Possibly. How do they know about this though?” Gansey says, thoughtfully. And then he says, “I’m glad you’re happy. Outbursts aside, you are. And I’m glad.”

Ronan knees him in the balls.

Gansey groans in pain and while he’s rolling around on the bed, Ronan asks, “What if I’m in love with Adam?”

Gansey recovers enough to croak out, “Then we should probably stop sleeping in the same bed. Although I think I’ll be doing that regardless.”

“Seriously though?”

“Well, what if you are? It’s not a bad thing. Adam’s… well, I like Adam.”

“Back off, you get Sargent. That’s what we agreed.”

“I think, that if she heard you say that—”

“I know, I’d be dead in a ditch by morning. I was on tour with them. She threatened to leave me in Michigan.”

“Justified, in all likelihood.”

“She’s good for you. You need someone you can just be Gansey with.”

“Hmm,” Gansey sighs. “She makes me quiet. Inside. Everything goes still, it’s like the hour before the sunrises, or midnight when it snows.”

“Write that down.” Ronan knows Gansey’ll kick himself if he doesn’t and he forgets that.

“Shit, yes.” Gansey trips over the edge of the bedsheets in his scramble to get to his journal before he forgets what he said. Ronan laughs at him and like that, he feels quiet inside too.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No apologies for the filth this time... Apologies for the fluff though maybe lol ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam knew before they happened, that spending those few days with Ronan was a bad idea. Missing Ronan is like a physical pain and it’s a pain Adam’s not got any frame of reference for. He’s never missed anyone like this, doesn’t know what to do with the ache.

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish your new single keeps playing on the radio. Are you paying someone to torture me?

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch yeah, because I have the money and the contacts to constantly have my music playing on UK radio

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish it’s the psychics isn’t it?

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch yeah, making sure you don’t forget I exist

Adam knew before they happened, that spending those few days with Ronan was a bad idea. Missing Ronan is like a physical pain and it’s a pain Adam’s not got any frame of reference for. He’s never missed anyone like this, doesn’t know what to do with the ache. He opens up his text messages to Ronan, when Ronan sends him a Twitter DM.

Ronan: Like I’m gonna forget that

Adam: Disgusting. Miss you too.

He keeps tweeting Adam too.

Ronan Lynch: @thenparrish how could I? You’re a blight on my existence.

Adam Parrish: @fakeronanlynch your fancy education is showing

Ronan: Seriously though, every car I get in, every building I walk in, hey Adam Parrish’s disembodied voice, singing about sex.

Adam: It’s not about sex.

Ronan: I’m pretending it is.

Adam: You’re terrible. Don’t you like it?

Ronan: It’s you. Of course I do.

Adam: I really do miss you. As much as it pains me to admit.

Ronan: Asshole. I miss you too. Hearing you everywhere is making it worse.

Adam: It’s only four more weeks. You’ll survive.

Ronan: Probably. Call me, if you’re not busy?

It’s not that late in the UK, so Adam had assumed Ronan would still be in the studio, but he calls anyway. Adam’s just hanging out backstage before their San Francisco show, he’s always going to have time to call Ronan.

“Hey, thought you might still be in the studio,” he says, as soon as Ronan answers.

“Nah, finished for the day.” It’s been two weeks since he last saw Ronan in person, but only four days since he last called. He misses him like he’d miss a limb. Like he’d miss his right arm.

“How’s recording going?”

“Almost done. Just got vocal layers to record and gotta stop Noah from going Animal-style on the drums.”

“Ah, the real reason you don’t do acoustic.”

“Other than it being boring as shit? I’ll send you the rough tracks, you can listen on your flight and be bored too.”

Adam laughs, and he doesn’t point out that so-called boring acoustic is exactly what he enjoys listening to.

“Did you sort out your flights?” Ronan asks.

“Yeah, we’re flying to Amsterdam, I think we arrive mid-afternoon, the day you play there, but—”

“But you’ll be jetlagged as fuck, so you won’t want to do anything other than sleep.”

“In all likelihood. I’ve never been jetlagged before.” Adam’s never left the United States before; he’d never been on a plane before last year. He doesn’t say this to Ronan though. Not because he’s worried Ronan will judge him for it. It’s more because he doesn’t think it needs to be said.

“It’s not fun. When do you leave again?”

“We leave from Rome, same day as you go to Madrid.”

“Three days in Rome. That’ll be—”

“Yeah. It will.” Adam grins. The whole two weeks that he and Blue will be out on the tour are going to be amazing. And two weeks, getting to spend every night with Ronan, well. Adam’s been thinking about that a lot lately.

“I was thinking—”

“Dangerous,” Ronan interrupts.

“For you maybe.”

“Fuck you. Tell me what you’re thinking?”

“Oh, now you want to know. Are you somewhere private?”

“Yeah, I’m alone in my hotel room.”

“Alone?” Adam tries to sound like he’s sorry that Ronan’s on his own, rather than with his bandmates. He is, he’s just also not sorry, because it means he can tell Ronan what he’s been thinking about.

“Don’t fake disappointment like that, Parrish. I’m fine, the guys went to a _pub._ ” He says pub like it’s a dirty word. Adam laughs.

“And you didn’t want to go?”

“No, I wanted to call you. Now tell me what dirty thoughts you’ve been having.” He can hear Ronan’s smirk.

Adam is apparently about to have phone sex on a shitty broken sofa in a storage room of a San Francisco music venue. Well, is it phone sex if only one of them gets off? No way is Adam getting any degree of naked in this dusty room. He doesn’t want to think about the illicit things this room has seen. Doesn’t want to contribute to them either.

“I was thinking,” Adam says. “About what made you come so hard that time on the tour bus. And I was wondering, if you would want me to do that?”

Ronan’s breathing is heavy. It’s immediately obvious that he knows what Adam means. His voice comes out low and rough when he says, “Yeah, you can do that.”

“That was one of the first thoughts I had about you. Shutting you up, giving you something to do with your mouth that wasn’t running it all the time.”

“I’m sure you’re not the first person who’s had that thought.” He’s making a joke, but Adam can hear how turned on he is. Adam’s not sure there are many people who’ve had that thought in quite the way he has.

“You wouldn’t let anyone but me though, right?”

“I can’t believe you’re even asking that. Of course, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, you’ll be a good boy and let me gag you.”

It’s not a question, but Ronan answers anyway. “Yeah, I will.”

“Are you sure? You won’t be able to talk back to me.”

“When do I ever do that?”

“Ronan.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” He’s not, Adam knows he’s not. “Tell me how you’re going to fuck me.”

“I’m not. You’re going to fuck me. I’m going to gag you and tie you down to the bed and then I’m going to ride your cock until I come.”

“Yeah, shit. Adam, can I touch my cock?”

“Go on. You’re good for asking first.”

Ronan moans loudly into the phone. Adam’s jeans are uncomfortably tight. He tries to think of something unsexy, but it’s impossible with Ronan panting into his ear like that.

“Tell me more, please, Adam,” Ronan says. Adam can’t believe he’s saying please already. He really wishes he was somewhere else, he didn’t realise how hard it was going to be to not touch his cock.

“Definitely going to fuck your mouth a little before I gag you. Not going to waste the opportunity to have your mouth on me when I can.” Adam’s voice is dark, and he keeps it low, in case someone wanders past the room he’s hiding in and overhears him. “Maybe I’ll ride your cock until you’re close to coming. Keep you on the edge, while I come over and over. Keep you tied up and begging all night.”

“Yeah, I want that. I want you to come all over me. Want you to use me, get me fucking filthy with your come.”

“You’d really let me do that? Would you let me come on your ass? Finger you with it?”

Ronan gasps and Adam winces as the phone hits the floor. The jarring sound is a good distraction from the visual he’s just put in his own head. Adam needs to stop thinking about what he wants and get Ronan off quickly

“Dropped the phone. Fucking hell Adam,” Ronan says.

Adam doesn’t call him out on the swearing, he just says, “If you were a good boy, you’d let me do that.”

“Maybe. But I’m not, so I won’t.” His tone is breathless and teasing. Of course he will. Ronan doesn’t know who he’s kidding. Not himself and definitely not Adam.

“Yes you will. If you want to come at all, you’ll let me come all over your hole and then finger it back into your ass.”

“Please Adam, I need to come now. Please, can I come now?”

“Yeah, go on. Come for me.” The words are barely out of Adam’s mouth before Ronan’s coming. He makes a high keening noise, that almost sounds like Adam’s name.

Adam listens to him breath hard for a little while, and tries not to think about how much he wishes he was there.

“Parrish?” Ronan says. “You good? Do you need me to keep… you know?”

Adam does know. “No, it’s fine. I’m in some dirty storage room and I don’t want to contribute to the questionable stains on this couch. It’s hard though.”

Ronan laughs. “I bet it is.”

“Not what I meant.” He sighs. “I have to go, or someone will come looking for me.”

“Sure. Leave the money on the table,” Ronan says, lazily.

“Wait, why am I the one paying you?” Adam laughs, as he weaves his way back out of the storage room.

“Not my fault you didn’t get off. I’ll give you a discount.” Ronan yawns. “Fuck, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Four weeks is gonna go by real fast. You should enjoy your fucking European headline tour. That’s a big deal Ronan.”

“Yeah." Ronan doesn't sound enthused, and Adam doesn't let himself be jealous of that. One day, he'll have that for himself. "It’ll be better when you’re on it too. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Definitely. Speak to you soon.” 

“Have a good show. And I’m not gonna do that ‘oh you hang up’ bullshit. Bye, loser.”

“Bye, asshole,” Adam gets in before the line cuts off. He’s grinning the whole back to the stage and he doesn’t stop until he’s getting into bed that night.

*

“Adam,” the interviewer says, and she’s got a smirk on her face that means she’s about to ask him something she thinks he might not like. “We all saw Ronan Lynch’s tweet from your recent Chicago show. Given that the two of you have had a somewhat volatile relationship in the past, I think a lot of people were surprised that he came to see your show.”

“Well, we are friends. I don’t think it’s that surprising,” Adam replies. He tries to convey ‘ _stop asking’_ with his eyes, but either she doesn’t notice, or she doesn’t care.

“Maybe not, but I wanted to ask, is there any truth to the rumours that the two of you are‑‑” she winks, “More than friends?”

Adam doesn’t let his reaction to that question show on his face. He’s been expecting it for a quite a while now, so he’s even practiced his response.

“Anyone who’s been around Ronan for more than five minutes knows that it’s challenging enough to just be friends with him.” It’s not a no, Adam’s not going to outright deny anything. But crucially, it’s not yes either, he’s not about to start confirming anything without talking to Ronan first

The interviewer winks at him again. She seems satisfied with his answer though and moves on to ask if they’re excited about their upcoming UK tour.

As Blue answers the question, it occurs to Adam that he should actually have a conversation with Ronan about how to answer those kinds of questions. If Adam could go back and do it differently, he’d have taken the same approach as Blue and Gansey, and kept it off of Twitter.

But it’s too late for that. He and Ronan are going to have to figure out how public they want their actual relationship to be, before it gets decided for them.

*

It’s not until Adam is actually in the airport, going through security, that he considers that maybe spontaneously flying to Amsterdam to join his boyfriend on tour isn’t the most rational decision he’s ever made. But it’s too late to back out now, his suitcase has been checked. He really hopes no one has to open it; there are some things in there he’d rather not share with the TSA.

It's the first time he’s ever been abroad, and he had thought that the first time he did would be when he and Blue finally played a show somewhere that wasn’t the US. She’s with him though, and she’s excited about getting to see Gansey and about touring with the band without actually having to work.

It’s no more ridiculous than Ronan showing up in Detroit and coming with them to Chicago. Except it involves a transatlantic flight. And they’ll be on the tour with them for just over two weeks. Maura had helpfully pointed out to them as they left, that spending their break from touring, on tour, wasn’t quite the point of the break.

The flight time is a little over seven hours and Adam plans to sleep for every minute of it. He’s lucky, he knows, that he can sleep absolutely anywhere. He’s done enough sleeping in vans and buses, on lumpy sofas, and piles of suitcases and equipment at this point that he knows sleeping on a plane will be no problem.

Ronan’s sent him an email, with an audio file attached. Once Adam’s settled in his seat, he puts his headphones on and opens up the file of music Ronan sent to him. _Insomniac Sessions,_ Ronan had titled it. The email doesn’t say much, just _vulnerable enough, shithead?_ And then a little further down, an afterthought, _Track 7._

Adam plays track 7 first, It’s the only one that hasn’t got a proper working title, and it isn’t one of the ones Ronan had played in the car. Adam only wonders about the significance of that until Ronan’s voice comes in. He’s never thought of himself as being particularly arrogant, and Adam doesn’t usually read meaning into songs that clearly isn’t there. By the time the four minute track is over, Adam’s sure. Ronan’s written a song for him. About him. Adam plays it again, just to be sure. And then again, just because.

Blue’s next to him and she’s already got her eye mask on and is listening to music too. He nudges her. “Hey, listen to this.” She swaps her headphones for his. Adam plays track 7 for her.

Halfway through, Blue says, “Why is my boyfriend singing a song about you?”

Adam smiles, smug.

“I sincerely thought,” Blue continues. “That the first time someone wrote a song about you, it would be a Taylor Swift-style break up revenge track.”

“I knew you were trouble?”

“P’shaw. You wish.”

Adam takes his headphones back from Blue and plays the track to himself again. The third time the track finishes, and Adam starts the whole track list again from the start, instead. Adam also opens his notepad and leaves a pen on top of it. Sometimes he’ll wake up, thinking of lyrics and he’ll have to write them down before he forgets. He falls asleep, listening to Ronan and Gansey’s voices and guitars intertwining, and thinking about the significance of it all. He drifts in and out of consciousness, and if he dreams, he doesn’t remember what he dreamt about.

When he wakes up, properly, Adam’s confused about where he is and why, for a second, before he remembers. _Plane. Amsterdam. Ronan_. He’s hungry as well, but an air hostess has recently placed a chicken sandwich on the tray table in front of him. He eats it in four bites and looks at the notepad in front of him, checking to see if half-asleep Adam has left him anything decent.

_Can’t play the cello??_ Is written in large, sloppy letters at the top, and in the middle of the page it says _cardboard tears, real or fake?_ Adam’s half asleep brain is so weird. But at the bottom it says, _how could a mountain so stubborn move? If I’m a mountain you’re a mountain too._ He can’t even remember thinking that, but it’s definitely got… something.

*

Adam’s flight is early landing, and they’re still doing soundcheck when he and Blue arrive. He hasn’t told Gansey that either of them are coming, mostly on Blue’s instruction that she wants to surprise him.

So when they arrive at the venue Gansey actually leaps off the stage and rushes through the venue to hug her. Ronan’s way more chill about Adam’s arrival. He does jump off the stage too, but he crosses the venue at a much more leisurely pace than Gansey had.

When he reaches Adam though, he hugs him, hard. He fits in Ronan’s arms, and his cold hand cups the back of Ronan’s skull. It’s like no time at all has passed since they left each other in Chicago.

“Hi,” Adam says.

“Hi yourself. You’re really here.” Ronan’s going to keep saying it, keep touching Adam, just in case it turns out to not be true.

“I am.” Adam’s smile is blinding, and he laughs, warm and musical, and there’s no way Ronan made this up.

*

After the show, Adam’s right there and Ronan has sudden flashbacks to the first show he came to in DC. This time though, he can do what he wanted to do in DC: push Adam into a dark corner and do dirty things to him.

Adam’s looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. He fists a hand in Ronan’s sweaty tank and drags him back through the venue corridors. There’s a storage closet and Adam goes right to it like he knew exactly where it was.

“You planned this, Parrish?” He says into Adam’s mouth.

“You wrote a song for me,” Adam replies. His smile is blinding.

“Speculation.”

Adam doesn’t reply, just kisses him more insistently, cupping the back of his neck with one hand and snaking the other hand down into Ronan’s pants. Ronan’s rock hard from the adrenaline of the show and from the anticipation of Adam being here. It’s not going to take long, and Adam’s sucking and biting at the side of his neck as he slips his hands into Ronan’s pants.

Adam’s hand is tight around his cock and he’s jerking him off rough and fast. Ronan’s really not going to last very long. In fact, he can already feel his orgasm building, when suddenly, Adam’s hand releases his cock, and his mouth is gone from the side of his neck.

“Fuck, Adam,” Ronan gasps when he realises where exactly Adam’s planning to put his mouth next. Adam keeps one hand wrapped around the base of Ronan’s cock, takes the rest into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.

Ronan’s hips stutter, he’s trying hard not to thrust, but the suction of Adam’s mouth around him is perfect. Adam’s tongue presses into the head of his cock and he’s looking up at Ronan with clear steady eyes. Ronan doesn’t know how he can look so in control when he’s the one on his knees. It’s fucking hot, and Ronan barely has time to choke out a warning before he’s coming. Adam sucks him through it, and he’s got a filthy grin on his face when he gets back to his feet. He slumps against Ronan and presses a wet kiss to his exposed collarbone.

“And where have you been?” Gansey asks when they return to the green room. Ronan doesn’t know why he’s asking, it’s painfully obvious where Ronan’s been. He can see his reflection in the dressing room mirror, and he’s got bruises in the shape of Adam’s mouth already forming down the side of his neck.

*

Up in the hotel, Adam looks weirdly concerned. “This is okay right?” he says.

“Is what okay? You coming on the tour? Fuck, Parrish, I wanted you to come. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.”

“Everyone else though.”

“Fuck ‘em. I don’t give a shit. I want you here, so long as you want to be here. Fuck what anyone else wants.”

“Of course I want to be here. Never left the US before. You’re a good excuse.” He shrugs casually, but Ronan can tell he’s still anxious about what people will think about him being on their tour. He suspects his less about the people working on the tour and more about the public. Ronan knows they have to have that conversation soon.

He tries to make a joke. “I hope you knew you needed a passport, Parrish.”

Wrong move. Adam glares at him. “Fuck you, Lynch. I’m not some dumb hick.”

Shit. “Anyone who’s spent more than three minutes with you knows that’s not true.”

“Well don’t make me feel like that then,” he bites.

“Adam.” Ronan knows Adam’s been on a long flight, and they’re both tired, so he doesn’t rise to Adam’s argumentative tone.

Adam screws up his face and pushes the ball of his hand into his forehead. “Sorry. Jet lag.”

Ronan wraps his arms around him, lets Adam press his face into his neck, rests his cheek on top of Adam’s head. Adam smells like aeroplanes and travel, but also like _Adam_ , like pine and moss and sunshine. “When we’ve both got a long break, we’ll go to Paris, and stay in a fucking fancy hotel and I’ll feed you croissants and fuck you in front of our awesome view of the Eiffel tower.”

Adam snorts. “Sounds romantic.”

“Yeah, well you flew to Amsterdam to see me, so I’ve got to go one better. Come on, bed.”

“Bed before midnight? Not very rock and roll,” Adam snarks, but he starts taking his travel clothes off. He gets clean boxers out of his own suitcase but swipes a clean muscle tee from Ronan’s duffle bag on the floor. As he walks into the bathroom, he tells Ronan, “Don’t look in my case.”

“Why? Have you got kinky stuff in there?” Ronan asks as he follows Adam into the bathroom.

Adam just looks at him pointedly, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

Ronan doesn’t think that they’ll have sex that night, but then they’re kissing in bed and he’s twisting two fingers into Adam while Adam pants against his mouth. Ronan strips naked but Adam’s still wearing Ronan’s t-shirt and when Ronan pushes slowly into him, it feels like coming home. He kisses the soft moans from Adam’s lips and when Ronan comes, Adam is right there with him.

It's not until much later, when they’re both wrapped up warm under the covers, and the room is completely dark, that Ronan hears Adam whisper, “You wrote a song for me,” again.

“Yeah, I did.”

*

Adam wakes up to Ronan’s alarm. It’s that fucking Murder Squash song still. He doesn’t know how Ronan can claim that he’s a serious musician and then have _that_ song as his alarm. Adam resolves to find a way to change it as soon as he gets a chance. He’s got two weeks of waking up with Ronan, he’s not putting up with _squash one, squash two_ for the whole time.

_Two weeks!_ Adam grins to himself. Ronan rolls over and turns off his alarm. He groans, long and low.

“You’ve got to get up,” Adam says. He really doesn’t want Ronan to have to go, wishes they could just spend the whole day like this, like they had in Detroit. But, they’ve got plenty of time for that. _Two weeks!_

“So do you.” Ronan rolls out of the bed and Adam grabs all the vacated duvet and bundles it up around himself.

“Maybe I flew all the way here so I can luxuriate in your fancy hotel room all day.” He flops back into the pillows and settles back in them to sleep more. The bed is so warm and soft, and he really is tempted to just spend hours here, enjoying just that.

Ronan collapses back onto the bed. He lands mostly on top of Adam and his weight should be uncomfortable, but it isn’t.

“As much as I love the idea of having you waiting for me in my bed all day, wearing my clothes—” Ronan plucks at the shirt Adam’s still wearing. “—I’m pretty sure Sargent has a one day walking tour of Amsterdam planned for you, and we’ve all got to be on a bus to Antwerp this evening.” Ronan groans, and then he kisses Adam. “Man, I hate being the responsible one.”

Adam kisses him again. “I think I quite like it,” he says.

“You’re an asshole,” Ronan says, but he slides off the bed again and goes into the bathroom.

Adam relaxes back into the bed. He thinks that maybe he could go join Ronan in the shower, but then someone is banging on the door.

“Lynch!” Gansey yells from outside the room. “Are you up? We’ve got to be downstairs in 15, if you want to eat, you need to get moving.”

“Shit.” He’d slept in Ronan’s t-shirt but had neglected to put his boxers back on after they’d had sex. Adam almost trips over in his rush to put underpants on. He throws the door open

“He’s in the shower.”

“Sorry for waking you up, I know you must be feeling jetlagged still. Blue’s still asleep.”

“I don’t feel too bad actually. I slept a lot on the plane, but I know she didn’t. I don’t imagine you were particularly early to bed last night either.”

Gansey goes bright red. Adam thinks that’s fair play, he’s standing here in one of Ronan’s shirts and his own day-old boxer shorts.

“I bought a hurdy gurdy in London,” Gansey says, clearly looking for a change of subject.

Adam forgets to feel awkward after that. He loves the hurdy gurdy. He tells Gansey as much.

“I was wondering if you would have the time to show me how to play it?”

“Definitely! Honestly, it’s such a fun instrument. Don’t listen to anything Blue says about it. She likes it really.”

Ronan comes out of the bathroom then. “Morning Dick,” he says to Gansey as he walks butt-naked across the room to his bag. Gansey is look fixedly at the ceiling, so Adam takes the opportunity to look appreciatively at Ronan’s ass.

“Do you mind, Parrish?” Ronan says, but he’s grinning.

“Not at all,” Adam snipes back, and, grabbing his own clean clothes on the way, goes to take a shower.

*

“So, any thoughts on public relations?” Adam says as he steals some of Ronan’s fries.

“Worst department ever,” Ronan replies. They’re sat on the stage of the Antwerp venue, legs dangling over the edge, eating the finest McDonalds Belgium has to offer. Adam doesn’t seem too enthused by it. He’s probably more interested in the waffles he and Blue are going to go out for while Nightwash do soundcheck later on.

“Necessary evil, unfortunately,” Adam says.

The venue is big and empty, just a few technicians milling about, setting up the stage for the show. Ronan kicks his boots rhythmically against the stage, and the booms echo around the empty space.

“Declan says we have to decide how public we want our relationship to be before it gets decided for us,” he tells Adam.

“He’s right.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“He is. Just because you don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t want anything to change. I want this, just like it is.” Ronan knows too well how the media can damage relationships. How scrutiny can take a small, delicate thing and warp into something ugly and unrecognisable. When the media framed his mother’s deteriorating mental health as a consequence of his father’s drugs problems, it was like pouring fuel on a bonfire. He knows they’d have been fine, knows that they could’ve worked through it together, if they’d had the privacy to do that.

Adam twists his mouth, consideringly. “So do I. But I’d also like to be in a place where I’m not constantly being asked to confirm or deny rumours. I’d like to be in a place where our relationship is a fact, not speculation.”

Ronan groans and flops backwards so he’s looking at the high ceiling above the stage. If one of the lights up there fell right now, he thinks, he wouldn’t have to deal with this problem. He could just tell Adam about his parents. _I’m scared of what they’ll say about us._

“I can see you’re a huge fan of that idea. Shouldn’t you be able to deal with this better than me? I’ve been famous for less than six months. You’ve been famous your whole life.”

“That’s just made me arrogant and maladjusted.” Self-deprecating jokes. Ronan can do that. “So, are we keeping it off Twitter then?”

Adam lays down too, next to Ronan. He tangles their fingers together and rubs his thumb over Ronan’s, slow and feather-light. Ronan watches him stare up at the ceiling too and he wonders if Adam had the same thought about the lights falling. He hopes he didn’t.

“No. I don’t think that’s the right way to go. I think we just… keep doing what we’re doing for now. And then when we’re both back in the US, we can figure out where to go from there. It’ll be easier when we’re not both doing interviews all the time,” Adam says, and he turns his head to meet Ronan’s eyes when he’s done.

“I don’t want to put out a press statement. And I don’t want to go on any stupid PR dates with you.”

“Really? But I had so much fun in Philadelphia,” Adam laughs. Ronan doesn’t actually know if he’s kidding or not. _Some_ of Philadelphia had been a lot of fun. Adam’s expression darkens suddenly though, dark clouds blocking out the sun.

“What is it?”

“If _this_ is how public we want our relationship… I guess that means we don’t go out together in public?”

Ronan lets the thought roll around in his mind for a bit before he answers. “No. We’re friends. We just… don’t act like we’re in a relationship in public.”

Adam lifts Ronan’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “Easy,” he says. Ronan feels Adam’s lips brush against his skin. “And then when we’re back home, we just… stop hiding it. Go to an awards show together or something?”

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees easily. He’s too busy thinking about something else Adam just said. “Back home,” he says. “Where is that, for you? After the UK?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Adam rubs his forehead with his free hand. “I was going to look for an apartment in New York maybe, or –”

“Live with me.”

“Ronan.”

“Don’t live in New York. Live with me. At The Barns. Phone signal’s shit, there’s no internet half the time and it’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’re really selling it.”

“Those are all positive attributes. I’ll be there. There’s another one. There are cows. Another. All I’m saying is that you don’t have to live in a shitty New York apartment.”

“Well I wouldn’t live in a shitty one, I’d live in a nice one. And even if I do come and live with you at The Barns, you said it yourself it’s in the middle of nowhere. I’d need somewhere in New York anyway.”

Ronan wishes he’d never said anything about it. He pulls his hand from Adam’s and sits up. He’s already realised why it was a stupid thing to suggest to Adam Parrish.

“I’m not saying no, Ronan. I’m saying that—” Adam sits up too, and Ronan feels his cold fingers trace over where his tattoo is exposed by his shirt riding up. It’s reassuring; he hasn’t fucked up badly.

“You need somewhere that’s yours.”

“Yeah. I have to do it. You know that.” Adam rests his head on Ronan’s shoulder. There are more and more people swarming around the venue now.

“Not alone though,” Ronan says, although he’s not sure Adam hears, his words could well have been lost amongst the growing buzz of conversation. The rest of his band, plus Sargent, are coming back to the stage too. Ronan can hear Cheng’s ridiculous laugh echoing through the corridors backstage.

Before long, this venue will be packed full, sweaty crowd in the pit, moving as one like a living organism. Ronan can’t wait, can already feel the thrum of the music in his blood. He wonders if Adam feels it too; can he feel the beat pound from Ronan’s heart at every point of contact; the electric guitar thrum in his chest; is his heartbeat racing to match it?

*

It's mid-morning and Ronan is being interviewed for French radio. They’ve got the second of two shows in Paris tonight, and then a day off tomorrow, before spending the whole following day on the road to Vienna.

Adam had stayed at the hotel when Ronan left for the radio station with his band earlier on, but Ronan knows he’s not there anymore. Mostly because his phone keeps buzzing with pictures of him and Sargent in random parts of Paris. Every time he looks at his phone, they’re somewhere new. Gansey elbows him in the ribs, but it’s not much of a deterrent, not when he’s getting permanent, photographic evidence of Adam looking that happy.

After the interview, they’re doing a live performance for the radio station. It’s an acoustic set and Noah’s bitching about the tambourine.

“I’m just saying that there are better percussion instruments.”

“Well did you bring any? No, so shut the fuck up,” Ronan tells him. The sooner they get this over with, the better.

“I think maybe we could try rearranging this piece to suit a different percussion instrument, but I’m not sure now’s really the time for it and –” Ronan doesn’t hear the rest of what Gansey’s saying because Adam and Blue have just walked in the door.

Ronan watches Adam through the window out of live music studio they’re in. He’s shaking hands with the radio host and the producers, and smiling his polite smile. The radio host giggles and touches his arm. Ronan’s convinced he just called her “ma’am.” He also knows he doesn’t need to be pissed about her blatantly flirting with Adam. But he definitely is.

“Ronan! Ronan!” Gansey’s calling his name.

“He can’t hear you Gansey-man, Adam Parrish is in the building, we’re all just blurry shapes to him now.”

That gets Ronan’s attention. “Shut up Cheng. Are we going to do an acoustic performance of a song that was never meant to be played acoustically, or what?”

Gansey rolls his eyes, but Noah laughs and counts them in, clearly already over his tambourine drama. Ronan tries to focus on the music, but it’s acoustic, it doesn’t give him the same thrill that electric does. And also, he’s trying to communicate to the blonde radio host to back the fuck off and stop flirting with his boyfriend. She hasn’t touched Adam again, but Ronan’s pretty sure her shirt wasn’t unbuttoned that low earlier and she’s laughing at almost everything Adam says. Sure, Adam can be funny, but he’s not _that_ funny. Maybe he’s funny in France.

He almost misses the chord change, thinking about how he wants to go out there and kiss Adam in front of her. Gansey gives him a weird look. _Yeah, maybe that was a bit possessive, Adam would hate that_ he thinks, and then realises that Gansey can’t actually read his mind.

On the way out of the radio station, Ronan notices Adam’s wearing one of his hoodies. It makes that weird little possessive part of himself twist happily. _He’s wearing_ my _hoodie, he’s here because he’s_ my _boyfriend._ That radio host flirting with Adam has really fucked him up.

*

Back in the hotel room that night, Ronan finally asks. He’s been thinking about it practically ever since Adam arrived. He’s been hinting about it, and Adam’s been giving him these cryptic, dirty looks. It was Adam’s ‘ _don’t look in my case,’_ comment that’s got him really riled up though.

“So… did you bring any stuff, or not?” Fuck, he’s glad there’s no way Gansey overheard him say that.

“Stuff?” Adam’s sat on the end of the bed, unlacing his trainers. He kicks them off and then smirks wickedly at Ronan. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would.” Ronan swallows. Good things happen when Adam talks like that.

But then Adam says, seriously, “Fuck, we need to talk about this before we do it.”

“We have talked about it. We talked on the phone.”

“Serious talk, not sexy talk.”

“After? I don’t wanna talk.”

“You’re not going to be able to in a minute,” Adam says, and then pinches the bridge of his nose like he didn’t mean to say that.

Ronan just raises an eyebrow at him. He knows Adam doesn’t really want to talk about this now either.

“Fine. Take your clothes off.”

There’s a moment where Ronan considers telling him no, or teasing, saying _make me,_ but then Adam stands up off the bed and rolls his shoulders. Ronan forgets any ideas he’d had of disobeying. His brain’s been racing for weeks and he’s been fighting with the parts of himself he doesn’t want to listen to. He needs Adam to turn it off, to take him where it’s quiet and he doesn’t have to think. No expectations, no pressure. Just Adam, and what Adam wants from him.

Ronan undoes his belt and lets his jeans pool at his feet. He’s stripping his shirt off over his head when Adam says, “Pick them up.”

Ronan almost rolls his eyes, but Adam’s tone says he’s not messing around. Ronan drops his boxer briefs, then picks all his clothes up off the floor. He’s actually folding his jeans.

“Good.” Adam’s voice is so low and so fucking dark that it makes Ronan want to drop to his knees. But Adam hasn’t said to, so he doesn’t. “Close your eyes.”

Ronan shuts his eyes, and he feels Adam come up behind him. He feels Adam’s hands slide up his chest. He scratches the fingernails of one hand over the sensitive skin around Ronan’s left nipple. Ronan moans and tries to push forward into the sensation.

Adam shushes him, and then says, “Keep your eyes closed. Kneel down, I’ve got you.” He keeps his hands on Ronan chest, guides him as he goes to his knees.

“Open your mouth. Put your hands behind your back and keep them there. I’m going to gag you in a bit, but first you’re going to suck me.”

Ronan crosses his wrists behind his back, opens his mouth wide and waits. He wants Adam’s fingers, Adam’s cock, both at the same time, whatever Adam wants to give him. He waits, for more instructions, or for more teasing first.

But there’s no more preamble. Ronan’s got his eyes shut still, so the first thing he’s aware of is the head of Adam’s cock running over his bottom lip and then pushing forwards into his waiting mouth.

“Fuck. This. This is what I want your mouth for. You’re so fucking good at this. You love this so much. I could keep you like this all night, couldn’t I? And you’d love it.”

Ronan wants to agree, wants to beg Adam for that. But even when Adam pulls out of his mouth, he can’t say anything. He can’t remember why Adam wanted to gag him, when all he has to do is push his cock into Ronan’s mouth to cause every coherent thought to fall out of his head.

Time slows to nothing as Adam fucks into his mouth again and again. It doesn’t matter where he is, or who he is anymore, the only thing that matters is Adam. Adam’s hands on his head, holding him right where he wants him. Adam’s cock hitting the back of his throat again and again. Adam in control of him.

“Open your eyes. Look up at me.”

Ronan does as he’s told. When he makes eye contact with Adam, he wants to shut his eyes again. Adam’s eyes are so dark and he’s looking at Ronan so intently that he feels flayed open and vulnerable. Adam groans, like Ronan is the one who looks like a devastating sex demon.

Adam pulls all the way out and squeezes his wet cock at the base. “I don’t wanna come yet,” he says and Ronan whines, can’t make any other noise, really. He feels hot all over, feels shame burning his face red but making his cock harder at the same time. “And I promised you I’d gag you.”

_Oh fuck._ There’s spit running down his chin and he already feels so used and dirty. He’s so hard too, there’s pre-cum practically dripping from the head of his cock onto the floor. He doesn’t know whether it’s what Adam’s already done, or what he’s going to do that’s got Ronan so hard.

“Do you want to close your eyes again?” Adam asks. He’s got a black bandana in one hand now, Ronan didn’t even notice him pick it up, but now he’s aware of it, he can’t take his eyes off it.

“Please,” Ronan says. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He shuts his eyes anyway. Not to hide, but because he thinks he might come if he has to look Adam in the eye while he does this next part.

Ronan goes pliant and lets Adam open his mouth. He’s tied a knot in the bandana and Ronan bites down on it when Adam pushes it in. His head rocks slightly as Adam ties another knot behind his head. Ronan moans loudly, and then louder again when he realises how the gag dampens the sound.

Ronan tries to talk around the gag, tries to say _this doesn’t stop me talking,_ but he can’t move his tongue to form the words and it comes out garbled. Adam laughs softly at his attempts to speak.

“You’re so perfect. You’re always so good for me,” Adam tells him. His fingers trace across Ronan’s jawline and up over his cheeks. Ronan feels hypersensitive to Adam’s touch. “I got you a treat. Get on the bed, on your knees, face down.”

Ronan stumbles a bit when he tries to stand, but Adam catches him and guides him down to the bed.

“Hands against the headboard. Don’t move them from there. I want to know I don’t have to tie you up. I already have to gag you to keep you quiet. Show me I don’t have to make you keep still as well.”

Adam’s fingers are cold on his ass when they rub against his hole, and then one presses in, slick and slow. Time’s starting to warp properly now, twist around and around on itself. Adam’s got two fingers in him now and he doesn’t remember the second one being added.

He notices when Adam’s fingers leave though, and he definitely notices when they’re replaced by something else. Adam’s sliding something into his ass and it’s not his cock. It must be slightly curved in shape because it settles right up against Ronan’s prostate. And then it starts to vibrate.

Ronan doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed about the noises he makes. The gag muffles them anyway, but they’re loud to Ronan’s ears. Whatever it is that Adam has put inside him is nestled up so perfectly against his prostate that it feels like every nerve ending is singing. It feels like he’s coming already. And then Adam’s perfect hand wraps around his cock and he’s jerking him off. He smears the pre-cum dripping from Ronan’s cock all around the head and down the shaft. His grip is so tight and when Ronan thrusts into the perfect pressure, Adam encourages him.

“Come on, you can let go, Ronan.” And he does. When he comes, it’s with his whole body, everything lighting up inside him. It just keeps happening and happening, his orgasm wracks through him over and over. Adam hasn’t turned off the plug and he hasn’t let go of Ronan’s cock.

“You’re doing really well. I want you to get hard for me again.” And his body is actually listening to Adam, so when Adam turns the vibration up on the plug, Ronan’s halfway to hard again. It’s insane, but it makes sense to Ronan. Why shouldn’t every part of him want to obey Adam?

He’s building towards his second orgasm now, or rather he would be, but there’s a distraction. His jaw’s locked and he’s trying to clench it or move around the shape of the gag in his mouth. Ronan doesn’t want to panic, but he wants it gone. He tries to say Adam’s name around it, and knocks his fist against the headboard, like he needs to get Adam’s attention. He’s already got Adam’s attention though, never didn’t have it, and Adam knows what he wants without having to ask.

He unties the gag and slides it out of Ronan’s mouth, rubs the corner of his jaw with one thumb and slides two of the fingers from his other hand into Ronan’s mouth instead. Ronan moans greedily around them, sucking on them hard now that he can. He hadn’t known that this was exactly what he needed until Adam gave him it.

“Good, you’re doing so good. You’re going to keep quiet for me still, aren’t you? No talking until I say you can.” Adam slips his fingers from Ronan’s mouth, trailing more saliva into the mess already on his face.

The vibration of the plug increases again, and Ronan tries to hold in the noises he makes, but he can’t. He’s sure he’s not saying words though, although every sound he makes sounds like _Adam_ in his brain.

“Come for me one more time. One more time and then I’ll fuck you.” His hand is back on Ronan’s cock and fingers from his other hand are back in his mouth. “You want it, you can take it. I love watching you like this, love seeing how much you’re giving me.”

When Ronan comes again, he practically blacks out. He comes back though, as Adam is pushing his cock into him.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Adam’s saying. “Not when you’re being such a good boy for me. Do whatever I ask you, don’t you? Can’t believe you let me gag you. I looked online at gags. I want to get one that’ll hold your pretty mouth open for me. Shut you up but let me in still.”

Ronan just about manages to muffle the broken, desperate sound he makes at that in the pillow.

“Are you going to come again?” Adam asks him.

Ronan has enough presence of mind to shake his head.

“You are. You will. I want to feel you come when I’m inside you. So you will.” He’s got a hand on Ronan’s cock again and it’s slick. With a jolt, Ronan realises Adam is using his own cum to jerk him off. He wonders if Adam used it to slick his own cock too before he fucked into Ronan. The thought makes his cock swell back to hard again. It happens so fast that it makes him feel lightheaded and he doesn’t know how he’ll come again, only that he will because Adam asked him to.

The part of his brain that’s still alert is telling him that if he really doesn’t want to, then he can tell Adam that and Adam will let it go, won’t make him come again. But the rest of him wants to do as he’s told, and also wants to see if Adam really can make him come again. Ronan lets himself slip away from all his conflicting thoughts; he stops thinking and starts feeling.

Everything’s reduced down to flashes of sensation; Adam’s cock in his ass, Adam’s hand around his dick, Ronan’s own fingers scrabbling against the headboard, nails of Adam’s other hand digging into his hip. Everything is Adam, he can’t lose, can’t fail because he’s doing what Adam wants and then he’s coming. He doesn’t even notice his own orgasm at first because he’s too caught up in the sensation of Adam coming, the feeling of Adam’s cock twitching inside him, filling the condom between them.

There are more vague sensations after that; Adam rolls him onto his back, wipes him gently down with a washcloth, settles in the bed next to him, wraps his arms and the sheets around him.

“Debrief?” Adam says. Ronan burrows his face in Adam’s stomach. He’s not got the words yet, to talk about what just happened. He just wants to be.

Adam strokes his head though, and he’s tense, waiting for an answer.

“Fuck that,” Ronan croaks out. “Later. Sleep now.”

“Just tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m fucking fantastic.” He rolls slightly away from Adam so he can grin up at him, loose and lazy. He feels light and empty and so happy that he could laugh for no reason. Adam still hasn’t relaxed though. “You’re not okay?”

“I am, I’m great.” He’s so obviously lying.

Ronan can’t find it in himself to be annoyed though. He just wants Adam to feel as happy as he does right now. “You’re not.”

“I need you to tell me it was good, that it wasn’t too much. I haven’t done that before and I just want know that you could handle it.”

“You could be meaner, which is not a criticism people usually have of you, I know.” Adam rolls his eyes. “You knew exactly when I wanted the gag out, straight away you knew what I needed. And fuck, I had three orgasms, I will never complain about that.”

Adam kisses the top of his head. “Thank you.”

“I’m good, I promise. Please, let me sleep now?”

“You’d do it again?”

“Right now? No. Tomorrow morning? Yes.”

Adam laughs. “We’re travelling again tomorrow morning. Got to be up early. Although I’m sure I’m not the only person on this tour who’s thought about gagging you.”

Ronan snorts a laugh. “You’re the only one I’ll let though.”

*

When Ronan finishes his call with his therapist, he feels scrubbed raw and he definitely does not want to talk to anyone. He thinks about just staying in his bunk and listening to something loud and angry. Gansey and the others are in the front of the bus, playing some stupid card game and being really loud about it.

Adam’s in the back lounge of the tour bus, though, so Ronan goes in there. He’s sat cross legged on the sofa, his acoustic guitar over his lap. He’s playing a chord progression over and over, changing it slightly every time.

Ronan stands in the doorway for a bit and watches him play. He wants to go and lay on the sofa, and put his head on Adam’s lap. Be alone. “That doesn’t sound very Page of Cups,” Ronan comments instead.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Adam’s looking a bit frustrated, and Ronan gets why, but he thinks Adam’s coming at the riff in the wrong way.

Ronan’s guitar, his Chainsaw, is in her case, strapped carefully to the wall at the side of the lounge. He takes her out and plugs her into the amp that Gansey leaves out. Adam’s looking at him carefully, like he knows exactly what a big deal this is to Ronan. Ronan doesn’t say anything though, just casually hands the guitar to Adam like it’s the easiest thing ever.

Adam plays the same chords as before on Chainsaw. He grins at the way the riff fits on the electric. He plays it again, faster and harder, and he adds an inflection to the end note. It gives the riff more flair, and makes it grittier. Watching him play Chainsaw is just… Ronan’s mouth has gone dry and he feels so senselessly aroused.

It must show on his face, because when Adam looks up at him, he says, “What?”

“Watching you play electric guitar turns me on, alright?”

Adam grins, and keeps playing. “So how many times did you watch that video I sent you?”

“When I said you couldn’t shred? More times than I care to admit.”

“I get it, watching you play is hot.”

Ronan gives Adam a dirty smirk, but instead of kissing him, he grabs one of the other electric guitars they’ve got on the bus, and he plays along to Adam’s riff. Jamming with Adam is fucking amazing; Ronan can’t believe they haven’t done this before. The way they feedback to each other, the way they both move on instinct; it’s just like when they’re in bed together in the best way.

“It’s good,” Ronan says eventually.

Adam’s answering grin is electric. “You don’t need to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. You’ve been hanging around with actually talented musicians.”

Adam snorts. “Yeah, and then I came here and now I can’t write music for my own band.”

Ronan plays Adam’s riff again. “I like it.”

“You can have it. I better get a writing credit on it though, if you use it.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll sue.”

“You wouldn’t do that to Noah. And you’d upset Gansey.”

“No, not your band. I’d sue you, specifically you,” Adam says, and then he stops messing about with new song and starts playing the riff from _No Good_ instead. Ronan’s suddenly really glad he’s got the other guitar across his lap, because if that video of Adam shredding had been bad, it’s nothing compared to this. And the fact that Adam is playing _Chainsaw._ Well, he's just relieved Adam’s focussed on the music.

Ronan loses track of the amount of time they spend playing together, but eventually Adam puts Chainsaw carefully back in the case. He comes over to Ronan and takes the guitar almost as carefully out of his lap. Adam straddles his lap instead and Ronan’s hands go instinctively to his hips. Adam’s mouth is soft and warm against his and the kissing is easy, unhurried and lacking their usual urgency. Ronan thinks about how he could do this forever: make music and kiss Adam, on repeat.

“Do you remember when we wrote the bus rules, and _someone_ said we should have a no sex on the bus rule?” Henry’s appeared in doorway. “Do you remember, Lynch, who the _hypocrite_ was, who suggested that rule?”

“Relax, Cheng. We’re not having sex,” Ronan says.

“Yet,” Adam adds, smirking cheekily. Ronan dumps him on the floor. “Hey!”

*

They’re in Vienna when it happens. They’ve had the day off, and Adam stupidly let Ronan lead the way around the city. He feels like he’s walked about a thousand miles. Back at the hotel, Adam’s shattered, and he falls asleep practically as soon as his head touches the pillow. He’s in such a deep sleep that when he first hears the noise, he thinks it’s a part of a dream. But as his brain wakes up in stages, he realises that the anguished screams he can hear are real and worse, they’re coming from Ronan.

Adam sits bolt upright in bed. The room isn’t completely dark, and, in the half-light, he can see Ronan, lying face down on the bed, fists clenched in the pillow, shaking with the force of the sobs that are wracking through him. Adam doesn’t know what to do. He has some half-formed thought of touching Ronan to wake him, but he knows that if it was Adam, he’d hate that. Someone touching him if he was having a nightmare would just make it worse.

“Ronan,” he says, loud over the sounds Ronan’s making. He sounds like a wounded animal. “Ronan.”

Adam thinks about calling Gansey. He’s only next door, he’s probably not asleep. He can also probably hear Ronan anyway, the amount of noise he’s making. Adam just keeps saying Ronan’s name over and over, and when he says “Ronan, wake up,” Ronan does. Abruptly.

Ronan flies awake and scrambles backward across the bed, away from Adam. Adam holds his hands out in what he hopes looks like a non-threatening gesture. Ronan’s got tear tracks down his face and he looks pale and drawn. His hands are shaking. He’s breathing hard, like he’s been running.

“Ronan, you’re okay,” Adam says, slowly. “Do you need me to call Gansey?”

“No,” Ronan croaks. His voice is hoarse from the screaming. “Just—” He’s still breathing so heavily and he looks like he’s going to cry again. Ronan swallows. “Can you—” He stops again.

“Anything,” Adam says. Ronan doesn’t answer but he moves slowly towards him. Adam wonders what his own face must look like if Ronan is being that cautious around him. He gets back under the covers and Adam moves closer, lets Ronan lay his head on Adam’s chest.

“Distract me,” Ronan says.

Adam thinks for a second, his mind’s a complete blank. Apart from…

“ _Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take you, Bermuda, Bahama—”_

“Fuck off, do not sing me that.”

Adam smirks. Then he carries on. _“—Come on pretty mama, Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go,”_

“Seriously Parrish? Sing me something else. Literally anything.”

Adam pauses. Then he switches to _I Get Around._

“Are you trying to harmonise with yourself?” Ronan actually sounds like he’s smiling a bit. Adam mentally high-fives himself.

“I’m a professional, Lynch.”

Ronan laughs, a little wetly. “Should I be paying you for this then?”

“Consider it a freebie. Besides, you couldn’t afford me.”

“I definitely could.” He lifts his head off Adam’s chest to glare at him.

“Pfft, are you calling me cheap? Asshole.”

“No, I’m calling myself rich.”

“You know I hate you right?”

“Not as much as I hate you. Who sings The Beach Boys?”

Adam laughs, and so does Ronan. They’re looking at each, grinning like idiots and there’s all these feelings swirling in Adam, like a tornado in his stomach. Before Ronan, those feelings were alien to Adam. But now, they’re so familiar. Adam feels them every time he even thinks about Ronan.

“Thanks,” Ronan says, quietly.

“Don’t. It’s fine.” Adam presses his forehead against Ronan’s, so close they’re sharing breath. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

*

They’re in Rome. They’re in Rome and they’ve got the day off and they’re in fucking _Rome._ Gansey’s been trying to convince them all to go one some historical tour of the city and Adam is sure it’s super interesting, but it’s definitely not as interesting as the mischievous smirk on Ronan’s face.

They start off on Gansey’s tour, but while Gansey’s asking the tour guide his four-hundredth question, Ronan grabs Adam’s hand and drags him down a tiny alleyway, away from the group.

“Where are we going?” Adam laughs, as Ronan leads him down a street and up another tiny, cobbled alley. “We’re going to get lost.”

“That,” Ronan says, as he pushes Adam up against a brick wall. “Is precisely the point,” he finishes and then he kisses the objections from Adam’s lips.

“We should get a map or something. I would actually like to see some of Rome, and not the Ronan Lynch ‘I’ve got a great sense of direction’ version, like I got in Vienna.”

“Fuck off, you saw loads of Vienna.”

“Yeah, all those office blocks and construction sites were really stunning. Ooh a parking garage, never seen one of those before.”

“You’d never seen an Austrian one before.”

“Shockingly, they’re just like American ones. I’m getting Google Maps out.”

“Don’t be so boring, Parrish.”

“I thought you wanted to go to the Vatican?” Adam says, and he smirks as he does, because he knows he’s won the argument.

St Peter’s Basilica is a beautiful place and Adam knows he should be paying attention to the history, the culture, and the details of a place like this, but he can’t take his eyes off of Ronan.

Adam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ronan so still. In this contemplative state, lit by golden sunlight streaming in through the high windows, he looks like he belongs. He belongs here just as much as he belongs on stage. The contrast between that Ronan and this one should be jarring, but it isn’t. It’s just another facet of Ronan and it fits with all the others. Every day Adam sees more parts of Ronan that he hadn’t known existed before and every time he does, he finds himself slipping a little deeper. Deeper into--

It hits like a lightning strike but feels like a fact he’s known so long he can’t remember learning it.

He's in love with Ronan.

Is this what it’s like to love someone? To know everything about someone, even the parts they’d rather you didn’t, and to feel so _much_ and so deeply for every part. To see all the edges of someone’s true self and to show them yours in return. To not be afraid of what they’ll see. There’s a lump in Adam’s throat.

He should’ve seen this coming. But how could he have done? Sure, familial love, Adam knows that. He’s loved Blue a long time, but he’s _known_ her a long time, and been through so much with her. But this. This is so different. Adam didn’t know he could feel this much, this fast. And maybe it’s been building for months, but it’s been exponential. Building and building and he’s been right in the epicentre. No chance to notice. He thought he would have. He’d thought he’d see what was happening, have a chance to catch himself, assess. Get out before he’s in too far.

There must be a strange look on Adam’s face because when Ronan turns back to look at him, he laughs a little and says, “What is it?”

Adam shakes his head. “You.” _You’re everything._ There’s no way that Adam wants out of this. There’s no walking away, and it scares Adam a little, when he realises how little he minds.

They trail outside into the sunshine. Everything is bright and loud in contrast to the hushed and muted world they’d left. Adam opens Google Maps back up, but he lets Ronan lead the way back into the city.

Adam gets so caught up in the adventure and the excitement that he forgets that there might be people here who know who they are. He kisses Ronan in front of the Colosseum, he kisses him on the Spanish Steps and he kisses him in the little alleyways in between, the taste of ice cream on his tongue and laughter echoing on the walls around them.

Adam doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy. He’s in love and he’s stupid with it, the desire to just be with Ronan, and to keep him smiling like _that,_ eclipse everything else in his life.

He forgets that he’s becoming a moderately famous musician and he forgets that his boyfriend is the rock star son of a globally famous rock icon. In that moment, they’re two anonymous people in a crowd, just another pair of nameless strangers in an eternal city. In that moment, the world is a sound stage and they’re the main characters, everyone else is a background blur in the movie that is the greatest day of Adam’s life.

Of course, life isn’t a movie and Adam knows better than anyone that reality is harsh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that... a plot????
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!! A massive thank you, as always, to everyone for leaving comments and kudos!!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, it could be worse,” Henry says. “It could be your nudes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite short (particularly compared to the last one) but I have basically already written the next chapter alongside it, so the wait won't be as long before I post that one!
> 
> Thank you for all the love & support for this fic! It means so much to me, and I'm so pleased that other people are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

_Handstheneyes: @Ronsey5eva Still think it’s a fake relationship?_

_Ronsey5eva: @Handstheneyes It’s like you’ve never heard of a publicity stunt before_

_Pynchofcups: @Handstheneyes @Ronsey5eva this is completely different to the Philadelphia pictures though. Those were pap photos, but this is some Nightwash fan with a camera phone_

_Ronsey5eva: @Pynchofcups @Handstheneyes they’re friends, they’re allowed to hang out together_

_Handstheneyes: @Pynchofcups @Ronsey5eva do you lick tomato sauce off your friends’ fingers too?_

_Pynchofcups: @Handstheneyes Yeah @Ronsey5eva if that’s how you act around your friends, no wonder you think Ronsey is real lol_

_Ronsey5eva: @Handstheneys @Pynchofcups what’s that supposed to mean?????_

*

“Well, it could be worse,” Henry says. “It could be your nudes.”

Adam looks at him incredulously. His brain still hasn’t quite caught up with the situation yet, not since a flood of emails came in from Cabeswater, not since their collective Twitter mentions went astronomical.

“Shockingly, we’re not that fucking stupid,” Ronan snaps at him. He’s pacing the length of their Barcelona hotel room like a caged tiger. Adam really wishes that he could just be alone with him to deal with this. But no. For some reason, shaky camera-phone footage of him and his boyfriend on a date, is an issue that requires the attention of the entirety of Ronan’s band, and Blue as well.

“Well, you forgot that people in Italy have camera phones,” Henry points out. They’re all still sat on the bed watching Ronan pace up and down. Five minutes ago, they’d been clustered around Blue’s phone, watching the not-blurry-enough footage.

“Henry, I know you’re trying to be helpful—” Gansey starts to say.

“No, he fucking isn’t,” Ronan interrupts.

“But right now, we need to acknowledge what’s happened, and then--”

“Ronan and I have a call with PR, later this evening,” Adam says, matter of fact. He flashes Gansey his phone screen, where there’s an invite to a video call.

“Fuck,” Ronan says. Adam suspects that Ronan doesn’t want to have to deal with this, anymore than Adam. Definitely not with PR. Ronan stops his pacing and comes over to where Adam is sat in the armchair by the window. He says to him, low and sincere, “Do you want me to go do something worse? Take the attention off this? Because I will. I’ve always wanted to throw a TV out of a hotel room window.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe you haven’t already done that?” Adam asks.

Ronan pauses. “Alright I have,” he says. “But I can do it again, and this time it’ll be more shocking because of my new sober reputation.”

Adam laughs at that, and it makes him feel a little warmer inside. He suspects that that was the whole point anyway. Then he remembers what’s happened all over again and buries his face in his hands with a groan

“Can we go and talk about this somewhere? Privately?” he asks. His voice is muffled, but Ronan has knelt on the floor in front of him, so he hears what he says clearly.

“Yeah, I’ll just tell these assholes to clear off.” Ronan gently pulls Adam’s hands away from his face, and kisses his knuckles, then his lips. Adam just wants to be alone with him, so they can talk about this together. Talk about how stupid they’ve been to just stand by and wait for it to blow up in their faces. Talk about how that day in Rome was still the happiest day of his life, and he wouldn’t change one minute of it. He kisses Ronan back.

Behind them, someone wolf whistles.

“Fuck off,” Ronan snaps. “If you haven’t got anything to say that’s actually helpful, then leave.”

The vultures leave, and Ronan shuts the door behind them with a snap. By the time he’s turned back, Adam’s looking at his phone again. Ronan fixes it with a glare that tells Adam he’s thinking about how he wants to throw _that_ out of the window.

“This was never supposed to happen,” Adam says. He’s not looking at Ronan, he’s looking at the photos on the tiny screen. He’s looking at his own face and thinking how he’s never seen himself look like that anywhere, other than in candid photos with Ronan. How the look on his face, in a tiny pizza shop in Rome, is the happiest he’s ever seen himself. He remembers that feeling, like nothing else would ever matter again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His eyes sting and there’s a knot of anxiety in his stomach. Adam’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the idea of a video in which he licks tomato sauce off Ronan’s thumb being out in the public domain.

It's all there. Evidence. Every thought he’d had that day in Rome is right there, cold hard pixels for everyone to see and no one to deny. Adam’s so fucked.

“Fucking hell Parrish, you can’t control everything. I’m sorry those pictures got taken--”

“It’s not the pictures, I don’t give a shit about the picture.”

“What do you mean then?”

“You. You were never supposed to happen.”

Adam watches a flipbook of emotions pass across Ronan’s face. Finally, he settles on something equally pissed off and confused, but mostly sad. “Do you want me to apologise?” he asks, sounding so un-Ronan, and Adam never wants to hear him use that voice again.

“No, I don’t want—”

“Well what’s the fucking problem then?” Ronan cuts across him. Now he looks mostly pissed off, but he still doesn’t sound himself. Adam can’t believe he’s about to say what he’s going to say to this asshole.

“The problem is, is that I am in love with you and it freaks me the fuck out okay?”

“Oh. Did you only just realise?” Now he’s laughing, grinning like he’s just received amazing news.

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“I didn’t think there would be anything funny about this situation and yet. Has falling in love with me ruined your plans?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I realised it when we were in Rome and --”

“It took you that long? I thought you were smart.”

“I mean. I knew it. I just hadn’t put words to it yet. And then I did, but I wasn’t ready. To see it,” he gestures at the phone. “Or to—” Adam swallows. “Tell you yet.”

Ronan’s looking at him, his eyes dark and serious again, like he’s realised that this is not the time for stupid jokes. Finally. He crosses the room again and takes both of Adam’s hands in his. “I don’t know if this is going to help right now. But I’m in love with you too.”

“I already knew that,” Adam says, earnestly. He does. He hadn’t put words to that feeling yet either, being loved by someone like Ronan. But he knew it, it was all there in Ronan’s song. Waiting for Adam to be ready to see it.

“Well, I thought it was worth saying out loud. Properly. I’ve wanted to tell you that for fucking forever, but I thought you’d freak out. And hey, I was right.”

“Yipee for you,” Adam says, deadpan. “You can add it to your list.”

“I will,” Ronan says, smirking, and he kisses Adam on the forehead. Suddenly, everything feels surer, better. It doesn’t matter that his private life is all over Twitter and Buzzfeed and numerous other social media sites. It doesn’t matter that they’re about to be yelled at by PR. It doesn’t matter that the tiny, fragile bubble he had with Ronan has burst. Because he still has Ronan. Ronan who loves him. Ronan, who’s seriously opening the notes app on his phone to add to his “ _Things Ronan was right about”_ list. Ronan, who’s calling him an idiot and kissing him again. Ronan who he loves. Ronan, who he would give up everything for.

And in the end, that’s what decides it for him. Whatever they say, this is what he’s fighting for, over anything else.

*

The Nightwash tour manager gets them a laptop and they set it up in a small conference room on the ground floor of the hotel. Security are stood outside the room, but other than that, they’re completely alone. Well, until the call starts.

“This is fucking bullshit. This is our relationship, why do we have to talk about it in a meeting?”

“Because we fucked up. Because this was always going to happen, and we didn’t decide on how we were going to deal with it when it did, by ourselves.”

Ronan can’t even argue with that. He wants to, but there aren’t words to do that.

“Aren’t your family psychics? Couldn’t they have warned us about this?” The joke doesn’t land, Adam just looks conflicted, and even more worried. Ronan takes his hand, rubs a thumb across his knuckles. Adam squeezes his hand back.

“I don’t think you need to be psychic to have predicted this.” The laptop is ringing. The fucking abrasive Skype ringtone echoes through the too-big room.

Adam answers. Ronan glares at the screen. Declan’s sat there, in an offensively dull grey suit, and a look on his face that Ronan instantly read as ‘ _I told you so’._ Worse than that though, is the fact that he’s sat next to fucking _Nancy._ Ronan doesn’t like Nancy. One of his goals in life is to make her job as difficult as possible. He’s been pretty successful so far; every time he swears on the radio, it’s for her.

They’re in the main Cabeswater board room, massive logo twisting across the wall behind them. _The panic room_ , Niall used to jokingly call it. It doesn’t feel like a joke now.

Adam pulls his hand away from where his fingers are twisted with Ronan’s, but Ronan doesn’t let him go. “ _Lynch,_ ” he says, but before he can argue, Nancy’s started talking.

“Mr Gray should be joining us, but he says he’s going to be a little late. I think we can get started without him,” she says, shuffling papers around on the desk in front of her.

“No.” Every pair of eyes on the call snap to Ronan. “We’re not talking about anything until Parrish’s management is here.”

Adam’s giving him a hard look. “It’s fine,” he says, too quiet for the laptop microphone to pick up.

Ronan sets his jaw and leans back in his chair. “It’s really not.”

“Ronan’s right, actually, Nancy. I’m sure Gray will be on the call soon,” Declan says. It’s normally second nature for them to disagree with each other, so Ronan actually nearly chokes in shock when Declan say he’s right. He wonders if this call is being recorded.

They sit in silence, for what feels like hours, but can only be a few minutes. Ronan keeps hold of Adam’s hand, and Adam keeps clenching and unclenching it nervously. Ronan wants to kiss his knuckles, stop him doing that.

Eventually, Adam clears his throat. “I’m afraid I must have missed the email containing the agenda for this meeting, Ms Jones. You’ll have to have a word with whoever was responsible for making sure that was sent out.”

Nancy looks cowed. Ronan needs to learn how to do that.

She’s saved from having to explain herself though, by Mr Gray dialling into the call.

“Apologies,” he says, although he looks far from sorry. Ronan watches him adjusting his chair so he can recline in it. “Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Not at all,” Nancy says, and Ronan can hear the distaste in her voice.

Declan’s watching Ronan carefully, like he’d watch a ticking bomb. Ronan resists the temptation to flip him off.

“Now, we’re all aware of why we’re here,” Nancy begins, but Adam cuts her off.

“As I said before, I must have missed the email containing this meeting’s agenda. If you could—”

“An agenda was not sent to you, Mr Parrish. Meeting agendas are for management. You are not management,” she replies, tartly.

“Why try to have the meeting without his manager then?” Ronan snaps.

“Mr Lynch, this meeting is not the only one some of us have to attend today. I would rather get this dealt with quickly.”

“ _Dealt with,”_ he hisses. Adam stiffens next to him.

“Yes, dealt with. This _affair_ that the two of you are conducting has created a whole web of problems for this company, not least of which are these photographs.” She says affair like it’s a dirty word. In fact, every word out of her mouth makes Ronan angrier. “We’ve called this meeting to discuss a strategy for dealing with the media speculation and subsequent publicity of whatever relationship you think you have with one another. As Mr Parrish is not out—”

“Not out? It’s not exactly a secret, if all you want me to do is _come out_ then it’s done, we don’t need this meeting. My sexuality and who I’m dating is hardly relevant to the music and I doubt any of our fans actually care. If you’re going to make me _announce_ it, like it was some secret, I feel that’s disingenuous.”

Ronan thinks he makes a good point. Nancy, predictably, completely misses it. “This is not about your sexuality, Mr Parrish. This is about controlling the narrative.” She’s using the most patronising tone Ronan has ever heard anyone use, and the fact that she’s using it on Adam makes Ronan’s blood boil. “Something you’re already aware of the importance of from our previous meetings, Mr Parrish. You, more than anyone else here, should be aware of the importance of keeping _personal dirt_ out of the media. Drawing more attention to yourself with this relationship will only cause people to go digging around in your _past._ ”

Adam’s mouth was open like he was about to say something, but he snaps it shut with an audible click. Ronan’s hatred of Nancy has shot off the scale, he’s seeing red. He wants to hang up the call, and get them both away from here, but he knows that’s the immature response. If they don’t do this now, it’ll only get dragged out. If they leave, then decisions will get made without them.

Adam doesn’t say another word for the rest of the meeting, though. He just stares vacantly at a spot on the floor, a little to his left, with his jaw clenched. Ronan doesn’t know what kind of meetings he’s had with Nancy, but from what he knows about Adam, he can fill in the blanks. He keeps a hold of Adam’s hand, hopes that the feeling of Ronan’s fingers twisted with his own is keeping him here and not letting him go too far into whatever dark place Nancy’s words have sent him.

Ronan hates to do this, but Adam’s checked out and he can’t fight this on his own. “Declan,” he says, careful not to put enough pleading into the tone that Declan actually thinks he’s got one over on Ronan.

“Nancy, I’m not sure it’s entirely professional to be referring to my brother’s relationship as _dirt._ And from what I’ve seen, the public reaction to any perceived relationship has been overwhelmingly positive,” Declan says. “There’s a lot more support for LGBT musicians these days, and people appreciate honesty, as Adam said.”

“I agree, both with Adam and Declan,” Mr Gray says. “There’s no reason to believe that the outcome of this is going to be a loss of revenue. From a PR perspective, we can frame it as a violation of the boys’ privacy, they’re in the early stages of their relationship and it’s not fair to expect them to share every aspect of their lives with the public.”

“That is an option, for where we go with this,” Nancy says.

“Do you have other options?” Declan asks.

“Well, the first, and the simplest, is to ignore this. Act as if the photographs and the video don’t exist, don’t even acknowledge them. The second is to claim they’re doctored, they’re not of Mr Parrish and Mr Lynch, or they’re out of context. Both of these options mean that this can’t ever happen again. If you’d like your relationship to remain out of the public eye, then these are the best options, but it means no more public interactions.”

Ronan feels sick. Adam still hasn’t looked back at the laptop, still hasn’t acknowledged what’s being said. Ronan can’t tell what he’s thinking, doesn’t know if he’s even listening. Ronan lets go of his hand and sits up straighter. He’s going to make this decision, he’s going to pray it’s the right one, and if it’s not, he hopes Adam loves him enough to forgive him.

“No. We’re not denying this.” He can see Adam move to look at him in his peripheral, but Ronan doesn’t turn, keeps focussing on the laptop as he speaks. “This isn’t some dirty, secret affair. We’re in a relationship and it’s a fact. And Adam’s right. It’s disingenuous to our fans to cover it up.”

Mr Gray is nodding. “It’ll only do you favours in the long term, to be honest from the start.”

“Nevertheless,” Nancy says. Shit. “I’d really rather we wait until you’re both back in the United States to put out an official statement and an associated PR package. It’ll be easier to control the fallout if it happens while neither of you are on tour, being interviewed and meeting with fans.”

“Get the topic blacklisted?” Declan says.

Nancy nods in agreement. “For the time being.” She turns back to Ronan and Adam. “If either of you are asked about it, you ignore the question. I don’t want either of you to Tweet about the incident, or about anything to do with each other. I’ll have someone arrange flights for you to leave Barcelona as soon as possible, Mr Parrish.”

“What the fuck?” Ronan almost shouts. He looks at Adam, there’s a muscle jumping in his jaw and he’s frowning. It’s the only reaction he gives, but it’s enough of a sign that he heard Nancy. Ronan desperately wants to know what’s going through his head.

“It’s the best way to ensure there are no further _incidents._ It would be for the best if you don’t leave the hotel together again, unless it’s as part of a group. I’d rather Mr Parrish didn’t attend the Nightwash show tomorrow at all, but I do think that would look a little more suspicious.”

“Not as fucking suspicious as sending him home altogether! What about Sargent? You’re sending her home too, right?”

“Ronan,” Declan says. If Ronan were in the room with him, he’d be throwing punches at that tone. He can’t though. Distance and Adam stop him. “I agree with Nancy on this.”

“I don’t see a reason to send Miss Sargent home, but that’s open to change. I know you don’t like to hear this, but I am on your side. This is how we control the narrative around events like this, things that happen out of our control.”

Ronan looks at Declan on the screen. He can tell Declan’s looking right back at him and he can tell the same thought is going around his brother’s brain. _Out of control, like my parents._ Neither of them says anything.

“We’re all in agreement then?” Nancy doesn’t wait for an answer. She shuffles her papers together, and then says, “I’ll have someone send over details of Mr Parrish’s flight. I’ve got to go, enjoy Spain!” like she hasn’t ruined the country for Ronan forever.

Declan hangs up the call, but Mr Gray is still there.

“Heinous cow,” he says. Ronan snorts. “Are you doing alright Adam?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s clearly not. “I’ll see you when I’m back in New York. We can talk then,” Adam’s using that horrible monotone and it affects Ronan just as viscerally as when he’d first heard it.

“Alright, try not to let this ruin the last couple of days,” Gray says, and he hangs up without saying goodbye.

*

Adam’s quiet and distant all the way back up to their room. He still doesn’t say anything when they’re alone. Ronan doesn’t know what he can do, so he does the only thing he can think of. He takes off all his clothes and he helps Adam out of all of his. Adam doesn’t speak, but he silently gets into the bed.

When Ronan slides in after him, Adam twists against him until he’s lying face down in the soft hotel sheets and he pulls Ronan to lie on top of him. Ronan twists his fingers with Adam’s and kisses the back of his neck. He’s tense though, conscious of not putting too much of his weight onto Adam.

“Relax,” Adam says. “Please.” It’s the most he’s spoken since the meeting. Ronan sinks down onto him a little more, blanketing Adam with his body. Adam gasps and Ronan presses another kiss to the back of his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he says to Adam and Adam exhales long and slow in reply. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know. Just this. I don’t want to think.”

Ronan kisses the back of his neck again, and then bites very softly at the curve of his shoulder. He lets his weight press Adam down again before he starts to move down his back. He licks and kisses a soft, languid path down Adam’s back.

“Will you fuck me?” Adam’s voice is so quiet that Ronan almost misses it.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, I wanna feel you.”

Ronan doesn’t immediately spring into action though, he continues in his slow journey across Adam’s skin. Adam’s got his hands fisted in the pillow, and his face buried in it too, but as Ronan moves further down his back, and starts down the cleft of his ass, he’s making soft, little moans. Ronan spreads Adam’s thighs wider to give himself more space. He carefully holds Adam’s cheeks apart and when his tongue first makes contact, Adam makes the loudest sound he’s made so far.

Ronan’s thorough with his tongue and keeps going until all the tension has drained from Adam. He hooks his thumb inside Adam’s hole and reaches for the lube. He lays back across Adam, holds him down with his weight as he fingers him, opens him up slowly and carefully for Ronan’s cock.

By the time he slides in, Adam’s so relaxed, it’s like he’s melted and inside he’s so wet, from a filthy combination of lube and spit. Ronan fucks him obscenely slow, kisses the back of his neck and interlocks their fingers together. He doesn’t increase his pace, and Adam doesn’t tell him to. Doesn’t ask him to touch his cock either, but when Ronan reaches beneath him to wrap a hand around Adam’s cock, he gasps like he’s been granted something he’s been craving.

Ronan’s orgasm builds inside him from the pit of his stomach, spreading out through his body like static, until every part of him is tingling. It washes over him like a wave over the sand on a calm day. The wave has washed over Adam too, taken them both as one body, and Ronan wildly thinks maybe they are.

*

Ronan gets woken up a couple of hours later by his rumbling stomach, and by Adam jerking in his sleep and kneeing him in the balls. He yelps out loud.

“Oh, fuck, Ronan!” Adam comes awake just as suddenly. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Ronan can only groan loudly in reply and nearly rolls off the bed.

Adam’s sat up in bed, and he flicks the lamp on. His bedhead is the worst Ronan’s seen it, sticking up at weird angles. When Ronan’s recovered from the accidental assault, he reaches up to Adam and smooths his hair down. Adam lies back down next to him, and lays his head on Ronan’s chest.

“How are you feeling?” Ronan asks.

“Hmm, hungry,” Adam says. “Damn, we were gonna go out with the guys for tapas.”

“I don’t want fucking tapas.”

“Room service?”

“Yeah, not pizza though. I’m mad at Italy.”

Adam laughs, and Ronan thinks that must be a good sign. One day they might be in a place where they can laugh about the whole situation.

Adam calls down to order their food, and it’s such a stupid little thing to be relieved about, but given what’s just happened, and how Adam closed off so quickly, Ronan can’t help but be.

When he’s hung up, Adam sits next to him on the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to completely shut down like that. She just said that I—” He swallows. “I just heard what she wasn’t saying, that this is all my fault, just like _that_ was.”

“Adam—”

“I know, I know. That wasn’t my fault, I know that. But I was just so in my head about the whole thing already. And then she brought that up.”

“It was unnecessary. I hate that evil bitch. Do you want me to get her fired? I bet I could. I bet Declan could.”

Adam doesn’t even snort at that. “You shouldn’t. She is actually good at her job.”

Ronan doesn’t care about that. There are other PR managers, and they can’t all be evil. “I don’t like what she said.”

“She wasn’t wrong though.”

“Well fuck, who cares if she was right? She shouldn’t have brought it up. And the way that she did? Fuck her. She deserves to get fired.” There’s something that bothers him about it though. “How does she know?” Ronan knows there’s no way Adam would have voluntarily given up that information.

“When we got signed, we had a meeting and they said that if there was anything in our past that might be… newsworthy. And I didn’t want to tell them, but I didn’t want it to come out more. I didn’t know if my parents would say something and I wanted to make sure they couldn’t. So I had to tell her, and a bunch of lawyers. They got an injunction, so if anyone finds out about the court case, they can’t report it. It was the right decision.”

“It was.” Doesn’t mean Ronan can’t be mad about it. He’s always going to be angry that it happened in the first place and now he’s angry that Adam had to tell people that he didn’t want to know.

“I love you. And I feel like shit, because I love you and I told myself I was gonna fight for this and then she said that and I—I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve let you down.”

Ronan holds Adam tight and tucks his chin on top of Adam’s head. “You. You could never let me down. We’re in this together. Me and you.”

They eat room service burgers and Ronan puts the TV on with the volume low. It’s still early but Adam goes back to sleep. Ronan watches him sleeping in the flickering blue light from the TV and he plans to stay awake, all night if he can. He doesn’t know how much more time he has before Adam has to go again, and he’s not gonna waste it asleep.

There’s a soft knock on the door, shortly after Ronan has realised that watching someone sleep is incredibly boring, even if it someone you love. It’s Gansey and Blue.

“What did they say? In your meeting?” Gansey whispers, glancing over Ronan’s shoulder to where Adam’s sleeping.

“He’s gotta go home,” Ronan says. The words hurt, a hollow ache, like pressing against a deep bruise. “They said we’ve got to wait until we’re back in the States, and then they’ll put out a statement.”

“That’s fucking stupid!” Blue says, way too loudly. Gansey shushes her, and Ronan glares, but Blue just rolls her eyes. “Oh please, he can sleep through anything. Did they say I’m going with him?”

“No.” Ronan doesn’t elaborate.

“Well, I’m probably gonna. It’s easier if they change both our flights, I’ll call Mr Gray in a bit.”

“Can we go have a chat outside?” Gansey asks Ronan, nodding out into the corridor. Ronan follows him out, but before Gansey can say anything, Ronan snaps.

“Are you gonna say I told you so?” It’s sudden, the onset of his anger, and Ronan hadn’t realised how angry he was until he was facing Gansey and his perfect, private relationship. “Declan managed to restrain himself, but I’m sure you’re itching to do it. Was there a betting pool on this too? How long it was going to take Ronan to fuck up the best thing that’s happened to him?”

Gansey doesn’t reply, but he frowns and Ronan knows it’s supposed to mean something, but if he’s ever going to have an outburst about this, Gansey is the only person he can do it front of.

“No, really, tell me. How long until Lynch crashes a car, how long can Lynch stay sober for, how long until there’s a media shitstorm, and now how long until Lynch’s boyfriend dumps him because he’s an absolute mess of a human being. Well, I hope you win fucking big!”

There’s a steely expression on Gansey’s face, one that Ronan’s only ever seen once before, and it had been Blue wearing it. “I’ve never bet against you, Ronan,” he says, and he disappears back to his own room without another word.

*

The morning after the bittersweet Barcelona show, Ronan can’t come with him to the airport. Adam can’t stand it, he knows Ronan can’t either. It’s awful and it feels like they’re being punished, not protected. He stands on the curb by the taxi rank, Blue is saying goodbye to Gansey a few feet away, and Ronan is looking at him like he’s trying to memorise his face.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Adam says, more for himself than for Ronan.

Ronan nods. “I was thinking. It’s like that guy said. That Roman guy.”

“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific.”

“Fuck it. It doesn’t matter who he was. It matters what he said. Tamquam alter idem.”

“Cicero,” Adam says, but he’s not thinking about Cicero, he’s thinking about the Latin itself. How it fits, how right it feels for them, for right now, for before, and for the future.

“See, I knew you’d know. Nerd.”

“Tamquam—"

“—Alter Idem.”

*

After Adam and Blue have left, Ronan corners Gansey in the back lounge of the tour bus on the way to Madrid. Well, he doesn’t corner him, as much as he goes in there when he knows Gansey is alone, and then leans against the door so no one else can come in and Gansey can’t leave.

“I’ve been an asshole,” Ronan says, without waiting for Gansey to say anything. “I was just so fucking angry, Gansey. And I shouldn’t have yelled, not at you. I’m—"

“Sorry?” Gansey fills in for him. “Ronan, I’m not upset that you yelled at me. I’m enough of a grown up to understand that you have emotions. I’m upset that you think that I would ever bet against you. And if those betting pools did exist, which they don’t, by the way, I don’t know where you heard that, I would win every single one of them.”

Ronan exhales hard through his nose. He crosses the room to stretch out on the couch next to Gansey. When he sits, Gansey punches him in the shoulder and Ronan shoves him in return. He looks down at Gansey’s pale yellow pale shirt.

“I’m not going out in public with you wearing that shirt, man, we have a reputation.”

“There’s nothing wrong this shirt! It’s a cheerful colour,” Gansey sniffs.

“I can see your nipples through it though. That’s not making me cheery.”

Gansey laughs, and hands Ronan his journal. “Have a look at these?”

*

In the car on the way to the airport, Adam turns the words over in his mind. He thinks about what Ronan had said, the night after the meeting. _We’re in this together. Me and you. Tamquam alter idem._

He considers what Nancy said, about controlling the narrative. He thinks about what Ronan would do, and what Ronan has done in the past. It doesn’t take him long to decide. In fact, the idea arrives to him, fully formed.

Adam opens his phone, and he scrolls through his mentions until he finds a tweet that says something he can respond to. He’s done letting other people control his fucking narrative.

Once the tweet is sent, Adam does something else he’d never deliberately do. He turns his phone off. Blue’s watching him carefully, a question in her eyes, but Adam just shakes his head. _Later._

*

Whilst Adam is somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, watching a movie and trying to not think about Twitter, Ronan has arrived in Madrid and is already sat in an interview at a radio station.

He’s agreed with Gansey and the rest of the band that he won’t do anything rash, but before the interview has even started he’s wondering if they’re all working from the same definition of _rash._

As if reading his thoughts, the interviewer turns to him directly and asks, “So, Ronan. Do you have anything you want to say about your relationship with Adam Parrish? Those photos of the two of you in Rome have really added a lot of fuel to the fire.”

Gansey immediately stands up and walks out of the studio. That’s definitely a question the interviewer was told not to ask. She’s got a mischievous smirk on her face like she knows it, too. Ronan can see Gansey and the tour manager talking to the producer on the other side of the soundproof glass. There’s a lot of frantic hand gesturing going on. But Ronan’s already answering the question.

He turns to Noah and he doesn't even try to lower his voice, when he asks, “What is it that you’re supposed to say, when you’re famous and dating someone, but it’s still supposed to be a big secret?” He turns back dramatically to the interviewer, like the thought has just occurred to him. “Oh yeah! We’re just very good friends.”

Noah loses it and Henry looks thrilled. On the other side of the glass, Gansey looks murderous. Ronan doesn’t care. Fuck PR for telling him he can’t talk about Adam. It’s his life, his relationship and he’s not going to fucking lie about it.

The only thing he does feel slightly guilty about is whether this is okay with Adam. He has kind of just outed him on the radio. Spanish radio, but it still counts. At least he managed not to swear this time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know why you’re so upset. It’s not like I said ‘well, I’ve been told not to talk about that, but have you heard about Gansey and Sargent?’ because that was another option,” Ronan says. They’re in a car, being driven from the radio station to the venue they’re playing at tonight. Ronan, predictably, is in trouble.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset. It’s not like I said ‘well, I’ve been told not to talk about that, but have you heard about Gansey and Sargent?’ because that was another option,” Ronan says. They’re in a car, being driven from the radio station to the venue they’re playing at tonight. Ronan, predictably, is in trouble.

“Or, you could’ve just not said anything! That was also an option!” Gansey snaps at him.

“Oh, you want me to lie now?”

“Not saying anything isn’t lying, Ronan.”

“You told me that lying by omission was still lying.” There’s something satisfying about throwing that back at him.

“Don’t—” Gansey starts to argue, but then he changes his tactics. “What’s Adam going to say?”

The grin drops off Ronan’s face. The situation is endlessly funny, until he remembers Adam. Adam’s still on his flight, won’t land for another hour. Adam’s blissfully unaware that the whole world has confirmation of their relationship.

“When he lands, you need to call him and tell him what you’ve done before he hears it from someone else.”

Ronan doesn’t disagree. He stares moodily out of the window, wishing the view out of it matched his mood. It’s the opposite, sunlit streets crammed with tourists, everything lit up in gold, even the narrow side street they’re currently stopped on. There’s construction up ahead and the car has barely moved, creepy forward in inches every so often.

On the other side of the street, in the doorway of a shuttered shop, Ronan watches two men standing intimately close to one another. It looks like they’re arguing about something, the taller of the two is gesticulating wildly. He throws his hands in the air and the other man catches them around his wrists. He kisses his knuckles, and the first man softens instantly. Ronan’s gut clenches and his eyes sting, he has to look away.

By the time they get to the venue, Ronan’s completely lost in his own head. It’s like a clip reel playing in his head, showing him all the worst case scenarios, all the possible consequences, all of them terrible. He can’t look away, can’t distract himself and Ronan doesn’t want to. He’ll call Adam, he’ll tell him what he did, and Adam will—Well. Whatever Adam does, Ronan will deserve it.

He took away Adam’s choice.

It’s the worst thing he’s ever done.

He can’t call Adam as soon as they get to the venue though, he still hasn’t landed, and then by the time he has, Ronan’s getting ready to go on stage. His heart’s not in playing the show: the thing that’s usually the best at distracting him isn’t working anymore. His head is in a completely different place, and his body moves on autopilot, playing his guitar without any input from his brain. If anyone else notices his mental absence, they don’t say anything.

The hotel room is too big and too empty, without Adam. It’s a nice room, it’s got a balcony with a great view and huge jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. Ronan can’t stop thinking about how much Adam would’ve complained about the unnecessary decadence of it all.

Ronan lays on the floor, instead of in the huge king size bed. He holds his phone up above him and wills it to ring. He would call Adam himself, but it’s like there’s a wall stopping him. He knows the motions, knows how to do it, wants to do it even, but every time he goes to do it, he just _can’t._

So he waits for Adam to call. He doesn’t know what time it is New York now. Adam will probably be asleep, regardless of the time. It’s too late now.

It’s the first time Ronan’s been alone since they left the radio station. Every thought about what Adam was gonna say about the interview is right at the forefront of his mind, and there’s no hope of a distraction from it now. Ronan can’t think about anything else.

There is one thing in here that can distract him.

But he should call Adam.

He doesn’t.

Ronan doesn’t remember moving. One second he’s staring morosely at his phone, the next he’s sat in front of the minibar, the door hanging open. The harsh yellow light is shining right in his eyes, streaming through the tiny bottles, and casting strange shadows across the carpet.

Ronan’s hands are shaking.

He already knows what it’ll feel like, the buzz, the numbness. Ronan wants that so badly, to not have to feel anything. The tiny bottles are promising him an escape, another way away from this reality where he fucks everything up.

There’s a bottle in his hand. The screw caps makes a familiar sound as he twists it off. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Ronan stares at the bottle, and it feels like the bottle is staring back.

He jumps when his phone rings. It’s Adam.

Adam.

He can still hear his own pulse but now it sounds like _Adam._ He answers the call.

“Ronan?”

Ronan can’t speak, he can only take big, gulping breathes that probably sound like sobs, but feel like he’s been drowning and just realised that he was on land the whole time.

“Ronan? Are you okay? Please Ronan, just tell me you’re okay.” Adam sounds concerned, verging on panicked. Ronan wonders if this is a dream, or if he’s already drunk, or high, and he’s hallucinating this. He can’t possibly still live in a world where Adam cares about his wellbeing.

“I’m not. I can’t—” he gets out.

“Ronan, tell me what’s going on. Are you at your hotel?”

“Yeah. I’m-- Minibar.”

“Ronan,” Adam’s voice cracks, he sounds as wrecked as Ronan feels.

“I didn’t do it. Not yet.” He’s sure he didn’t. The lid is off but the bottle is still full.

“Do you want to?” Adam asks, and he still sounds scared, but the question is blunt.

“No,” Ronan answers, and he hopes Adam hears the truth. “I don’t know how to stop myself.”

“Yes, you do. Pour it down the sink. You can, you’re strong, you can do this.”

“Keep talking please. Just talk to me.”

“I watched the shittiest movie on the plane,” Adam starts, and then he goes on to tell Ronan the plots of all the terrible in-flight movies he watched, and then about all the strange people he saw in the airport, and the stories he and Blue made up for them. He keeps talking while Ronan pours the bottle of vodka down the sink, while gathers all the other tiny bottles up into the rubbish bin under the desk.

He takes bin and carries it out of his room, down the corridor. He dumps it on the floor outside Gansey’s room, and walks away, after he’s banged on the door.

Back in his own room, Ronan finally gets on the bed. Nausea churns his stomach, the fear of what would’ve happened if Adam hadn’t called, the horrible realisation that it could’ve been that easy. Nearly a whole year sober, and for what?

“I’m sorry, Adam.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It doesn’t make you weak.”

“Not about that. About—” Ronan’s bitten the bullet and now it’s lodged in his throat. He swallows around it. “The interview.”

“What interview?” Adam doesn’t know. _Fuck._ Ronan’s not ready for Adam’s anger; he wants to keep living in this world where Adam doesn’t hate him.

He can’t do this. But he has to. “They asked me about us.”

“And you answered,” Adam fills in, but it sounds like he’s smiling, just a little. “Ronan. Is that what this is about? Did you think I was gonna be mad? I know you, Ronan. I knew as soon as someone even mentioned it _near_ you, what you’d do.”

“I know that.” Ronan closes his eyes. The bed is big and cold, but if he lies with his eyes closed, and the phone on speaker next to him, he can pretend that Adam is just across the pillow from him, instead of across the ocean. “I know that. But I didn’t. Know that. I just got in my head about it.”

“You should’ve called me.” Adam doesn’t sound mad, he sounds upset, concerned still. “Why wouldn’t you call?”

“I was…” Ronan doesn’t recognise the sound of his own voice. “I was scared. One day you’re gonna see what a fuck up I really am. I thought this was it.”

“Ronan. There is nothing that you could do, that would make want to leave you now. I thought you knew that. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve argued, for us. I’m gonna make this right.”

“It’ll be right when I’m back home,” Ronan says, even though he knows in the back of his mind that his home isn’t Adam’s home, no matter how much he wants it to be. “Tamquam.”

“Alter idem. Get some sleep, Ronan. I’ll stay on the phone until you’re asleep.”

*

Adam doesn’t hang up the phone until long after he knows Ronan’s gone to sleep.

He’s tired, but it’s not late yet in New York, and the call with Ronan has lit a fire inside of him. A part of Adam is still reeling from what Nancy said in the meeting, but rather than let the shame and embarrassment consume him, he’s going to throw himself into making sure it can never happen again. For his sake, and for Ronan’s, Adam’s not going to let Nancy Jones get the better of him.

Adam’s got a thousand scenarios in his mind for what could’ve happened in the radio interview Ronan mentioned. He searches ‘ _Ronan Lynch interview’_ on his phone. The top result is ‘ _WATCH: Has Ronan Lynch confirmed his relationship with Adam Parrish?’’_

As one half of the couple in question, Adam thinks it’s probably about time he finds out. The video is a pretty standard shot of the booth of a radio station and it’s filmed from slightly above, all four members of Nightwash clearly in the frame.

Ronan’s wearing the grey hoodie that Adam spent most of his time on the tour wearing, and he’s laughing at a joke Noah just made. Adam hears the interviewer ask him, “So, Ronan. Do you have anything you want to say about your relationship with Adam Parrish? Those photos of the two of you in Rome have really added a lot of fuel to the fire.”

Adam watches Gansey take off his headphones and disappear out of the frame. It’s a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable, Adam thinks. He hadn’t even bothered to tell Ronan not to, figuring that it would just be worse for everyone when Ronan eventually did it anyway. The phone call Adam’s just had with Ronan, proves his theory.

Ronan answers the question in the video. Adam barely hears his sarcastic reply, he’s too busy watching the electric grin on his face. Then, it’s like all hell breaks loose around him. Gansey comes back in, closely followed by the Nightwash tour manager and the radio show producer. The video stream from the radio station cuts off not long after that. It cuts to someone speaking Spanish over a weirdly edited clip of Adam and Ronan in Rome. Adam exits out of the video player and locks his phone.

It's exactly what he expected, really. If Adam had resorted to tweeting rash things, then of course would Ronan have done something far less subtle. It doesn’t change Adam’s plans though. He’s already got a copy of his Cabeswater contract open on his phone, and he’d started making notes from it on his flight, but it’s a long document. There’s some more legal documents he’s still got to read through, but before he gets started, he texts Ronan.

A: _I watched the video. Bonus points for not swearing. I’m sorry that I ever let you think I’d be mad about it. I love you. Tamquam_

Ronan’s reply comes a few hours later, as Adam’s just drifting off to sleep himself.

R: _Alter idem._

*

There’s one show left on the Nightwash European tour, and when they arrive in Lisbon, Ronan already can’t wait for it to be over. He never thought that he would be pleased about the end of tour, but when the tour manager tells him he’s flying to New York after the Lisbon show, he doesn’t feel anything but relief.

It's just two more days, but they seem to stretch out endlessly before him. Ronan feels like he had back when he first got sober, he can feel weight of every second that passes.

At the venue in Lisbon, Noah tries to distract him by hijacking a venue golf cart. Gansey and Henry are out at another radio station, and he and Noah take in turns towing each other around the venue parking lot on their skateboards. It works for a while, until he remembers doing the same thing with Adam in Berlin, and it makes him miss Adam all over again.

Ronan deletes Twitter off his phone. He does it mostly so he doesn’t tweet something completely fucking stupid and obnoxious that’ll really screw things up. Ronan’s almost reverted to his pre-Adam relationship with his phone; the only exception is that he actually keeps it charged now.

*

Adam spends a lot of his time in New York, that isn’t taken up planning for meetings, looking for an apartment. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, which he thinks probably frustrates the realtor. He wants somewhere that could feel like home, somewhere that’s his, that he knows he’ll always have to come back to.

Every place he goes doesn’t feel quite right though, there’s always something missing. He can never put his finger on what it is, especially when his bunk on the tour bus felt more like home the last few months. He thinks that he’ll probably know it when he finds it.

Adam deleted the Twitter app from his phone as soon as he turned it back on after his arrival in New York. He knows what he did wasn’t that bad but that doesn’t mean he needs to read what everyone thinks about it. When Blue saw the tweet after they landed in New York, she called it “doing a Ronan,” and then went on to tell him how she knew Ronan would be a bad influence on him, but she can’t say she’s not impressed.

It’s not as helpful to Adam as she thinks it is.

Adam also spends a lot of time in New York going in and out of the Cabeswater offices. He’s primarily met with Mr Gray, but he’s also met with some other Cabeswater associates, including Declan Lynch. They don’t talk about Ronan.

He’s got a PR meeting with Nancy scheduled in a few days. Adam doesn’t know why it’s taking so long for her to see him; making him wait is probably some kind of power play. Adam doesn’t care about the why really, it just gives him more time. He’s not going into another meeting on the back foot ever again.

*

Ronan plays the last show and then they put him on the first flight out of Lisbon, back to New York. He’s alone, and he doesn’t give a fuck. Adam’s in New York, and right now that’s the only place he wants to be.

Declan calls him when he’s waiting in the airport. It’s 6am in Lisbon, which means it’s 1am in New York. Ronan doesn’t care, Declan didn’t have to call him. Ronan also can’t believe he hasn’t called sooner. He quickly makes up for lost time though.

“You just couldn’t do what you were told, could you? All you had to do was not say anything, I thought you were happy with the plan. I was impressed with how you handled that meeting, but it’s clear that the radius of Parrish’s good influence only extends so far.”

“I don’t know why you think I care,” Ronan answers, emotionlessly. If he can keep up disdain and disinterest for the call, Declan will just get frustrated and hang up.

“I thought you cared about him.”

“Don’t. You have no idea what this is like,” Ronan snaps. So much for emotionless disinterest. He’s stood in front of wall of windows, overlooking the runway. He watches a plane take off, and wishes he was stood outside the roar of the jet engine could drown out his thoughts.

“No, I don’t. Because I gave up having my own fucking life so I could stop you wasting yours.”

“Wasting my life? I’m not the one stuck doing a job I hate out of some sick sense of loyalty to a man I always hated!” People are staring at Ronan; he couldn’t care less.

“You think I do this for _him?_ Don’t be so fucking obtuse.”

“Don’t tell me you’re doing it for me. It’s the same thing. You’re always saying I’m just like him. I can extrapolate, Declan.”

“One day, Ronan, you’re gonna wake up and realise that actions have consequences,” Declan says, coldly.

Ronan’s so angry he could put his fist through the window. “There you go again. I’m just like Dad. You wish he’d realised that.”

“Yes, Ronan, I do. Because then maybe he’d still be here, instead of in the ground. Maybe he’d have thought about the fucking shitstorm he was leaving us in.”

“If you fucking thought that, then you’d quit,” Ronan snarls. And he hangs up. Ronan can’t believe they’d had that argument over the phone. Actually, if there wasn’t an ocean separating them, they’d be throwing punches before either of them could mention their father.

Ronan doesn’t sleep on the plane. He can’t, he doesn’t even try. He doesn’t watch anything on the tiny TV screen, doesn’t listen to any music. Just replays what Declan said over and over in his. Replays every conversation he’s had with Declan, the last few months. He’s so mad when he gets on the plane, but 8 hours is a long time to hold the same emotion. By the time he gets to New York, Ronan feels empty, and exhausted, like he ran the whole way across the Atlantic.

*

It’s the morning of the fourth day after he left Ronan in Spain, and Adam’s finally got his meeting with Cabeswater PR. It’s not until early afternoon, but he spends the whole morning preparing for it. It’s game time.

Blue travelled back down to Henrietta yesterday, but Adam’s kept her in the loop on everything and she knows what he’s got planned out. The only thing that still bothers Adam is that he hasn’t spoken to Ronan about it yet. He doesn’t even know if Ronan’s seen his Tweet, there hasn’t been chance to call him the last couple of days, and when he’d had time, the call had gone to voicemail. Adam calls him again, anyway, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. Again.

 _It’s Ronan,_ Adam tells himself. Everyone tells him all the time how Ronan answering his calls is an anomaly in itself. Doesn’t stop Adam from worrying though. He needs to tell Ronan what he’s going to do before it happens.

He calls Gansey.

“Oh, hey, Adam. How’re things?” Gansey answers, cheerily.

“Fine, yeah. Are you back in London yet?”

“Not yet, we’re just waiting for them to announce our gate for the flight.”

“Oh cool, right. Uh, is Ronan there?”

“No? He’s already on his flight. He should be landing in two hours or something?”

That is not what Adam was expecting him to say. “What flight?”

“Oh Christ, Adam. I assumed you knew! Ronan’s on a flight to New York, for the Cabeswater PR meeting you’re having later.”

Oh shit. No wonder Ronan hasn’t called him. Adam wishes he’d tried harder to get Ronan on the phone the last couple of days. He should’ve called Gansey ages ago.

Gansey’s still talking, and Adam tunes back in. “—all over the place and I don’t think he even wants to be in London.”

“Is he coming back for the PR meeting?”

“Yeah, that’s the main reason.” Gansey sounds worried. Adam’s grateful that Gansey doesn’t seem to blame him for what happened, it would be so easy to. “He’ll do better at home too.”

There’s a double meaning there, but Adam doesn’t think too hard about it. He wonders if Gansey knows about the other night, and how Ronan explained the trash can of alcohol outside his door.

“I’ll look after him, Gansey.”

“I know you will.”

*

Ronan lands in New York an hour before the PR meeting that he absolutely does not want to go to. If he didn’t already know that Adam would be there, he wouldn’t give a fuck about being late. He gets a coffee anyway at the airport and drinks it in the taxi. It does nothing to help how exhausted he feels, it just makes his usually steady hands shake.

The New York traffic is awful, but for how long the past few days have dragged, the drive from the airport to the label offices feels like it happens on fast forward. Ronan doesn’t know if it’s anxiety or excitement that have sped up time, but either way, when he gets to Cabeswater, he doesn’t bother to go to reception, he just runs up the stairs to the board room.

Adam’s sat on the low, leather sofa at the top of the stairs, resting his chin on his hand. He’s doing that thing again, where he looks contradictory, nervous but determined, otherworldly, but also the realest, truest thing Ronan’s ever seen.

As Ronan gets to the top of the stairs, Adam looks up at him, and he’s on his feet before Ronan can say anything. Adam collides with him, and Ronan twists his fingers in his shirt, holds him tight and close like he’s been wanting to for days now. Doesn’t know how he’ll let go, not when all the restless parts inside have settled, not when it feels like he can finally, breath again. Not when it feels like time is moving at the right speed again.

“Can we just talk for a minute? Before we go in, I need to—” Adam starts to say, but he’s cut off by a blue-haired intern sticking their head out of the board room door.

“They’re ready for you,” the intern says. Ronan glares at her, hard, and she fixes him with a hard stare right back. Ronan’s reminded of Blue, and he decides maybe he likes this one.

Adam stands up though. “Don’t bully the staff, Lynch. We’re just gonna have to…” And he gestures at the door.

Nancy’s there already, with a gaggle of interns, Mr Gray, and Declan. Ronan wants this over and done with. The sooner it’s over, the sooner he can get to a hotel, and the sooner he can get to the real reason he agreed to this spontaneous transatlantic flight. Adam.

Adam sits down next to him, close enough that their knees could touch if Ronan moved just a little. Adam’s looking defiantly at the front of the room, and Ronan recognises that look; knows it means Adam’s decided something, and no one can change his mind now.

“Well gentlemen, seeing as we’re all here, we best get straight to the point,” Nancy says. She’s looking smug. Ronan watches Adam watching her, as she moves to the front of the room. Ronan knows what it is that Adam’s decided. He might not know the mechanics of it, but he can tell what Adam’s goal is for this meeting. Ronan wishes he’d brought popcorn.

There’s a large television screen at the head of the table, sprawling Cabeswater LLC logo displayed on it. Nancy clicks a button on her shiny laptop, and the screen changes to a screenshot of Adam’s Twitter. Specifically, a recent tweet of Adam’s. It’s a reply to a fan and what it says makes Ronan choke with laughter.

Page_of_w4nds: Adam’s not even gay!!

Adam Parrish: @Page_of_w4nds he is bisexual though.

Ronan seriously regrets deleting the Twitter app now, he’s nearly out of his chair with how much he’s laughing. No one else seems to find it nearly as funny, but they’ve probably already seen it. It’s the best tweet Ronan’s ever seen. He’s gonna get it framed.

“You hadn’t seen it,” Adam says. It isn’t a question and Ronan’s more than a little relieved to see he’s smiling slightly at his reaction.

“No! Holy shit, Parrish. Good one,” Ronan says, as he tries to regain his composure. Adam gives him a proper, warm smile at that, but it’s quickly replaced with his determination from before, as Nancy starts to speak again.

“I’m glad you find it funny, Mr Lynch. Let’s see if Mr Parrish finds your little indiscretion as amusing.”

Ronan abruptly stops laughing at that. He knows Adam’s seen the interview, knows he’s okay with it, but Nancy’s tone makes it sound like she’s going to attempt to use it to against Ronan anyway.

“I’m already well aware of that. And yeah, I do actually,” Adam says. “It’s irrelevant anyway. This meeting was supposed to be about what we’d like to say in our official statement about our relationship, not about what each of us might have said in the past.”

“I’m incredibly disappointed that you both went against the agreed strategy. I hope you’re well aware of the amount of work you’ve created for us in the department.”

“Gotta keep you busy,” Ronan says. There’s only one person in this room that he gives a fuck about disappointing, and it certainly isn’t Nancy.

Adam kicks him, gently under the table. “Don’t be an asshole,” he mutters to Ronan, and then louder he says, “I was never explicitly told not to mention my sexuality. If anything, we’d agreed it was inconsequential.”

“It’s hardly inconsequential when combined with Mr Lynch’s… interview. Together, they lead to articles such as this.”

Nancy clicks on her laptop again, and the TV screen changes to a Buzzfeed article.

**_Pynch Confirmed?_ **

_It’s one of the most talked-about topics in the music industry this year, and certainly one of the hottest too: what is going on between Adam Parrish of Page of Cups and Nightwash’s Ronan Lynch?_

_Speculation about the nature of the relationship between the two of them has been rife since their incredibly antagonistic Twitter relationship. There are so many theories circulating about these two, it’s hard to keep track! There’s been everything from high school sweethearts, to a fake relationship to cover up another fan favourite ship, to enemies to lovers! (You can read more of our favourite Pynch fan theories here!)_

_But after photographs of the two of them on what looked to be a very romantic day out in Rome emerged, it seemed like we were finally about to get to the bottom of this delicious, layered dessert. there’s been radio silence from both camps. Not a teasing tweet to be found._

_And then, within a matter of hours of each other, Adam and Ronan both appeared to confirm that there was something going on between them. Adam Parrish, who has up until now, been notably closed off about his personal life, replied to a fan’s tweet—_

The article cuts off there. Ronan’s not particularly bothered by it. Articles like this have existed about him for as long as he’s been in the public eye. Speculation about who he’s dating is nothing new. It’s the first time it’s actually been _true,_ but it’s still trivial.

“These are the kinds of articles that would be running once the press statement came out anyway.” Adam says. He sounds serious, and a little bit like he’s practiced what he would say. “Now at least there’s a reason to put out an _official_ statement. Rather than continuing to push it off, because that’s what you’re thinking isn’t it? Keep quiet about it for now, wait for it to blow over and it’ll never become a problem, just rumours.”

“I’m not sure where you got the idea that—” Nancy starts to say.

“You ignored what we said we wanted to do,” Adam interrupts. “I believe Mr Gray has already discussed this with the other Cabeswater associates, but Blue and I have decided we would rather you not handle anymore PR for Page of Cups, at the risk of further damaging the otherwise good relationship we have with Cabeswater. I imagine Nightwash will be requesting something similar.”

“I am the head of PR at this company and—”

“I’m not disputing that, Ms Jones. I’m sure you’ll continue to have a successful career within this company. Page of Cups just won’t be a part of it.”

“Who is going to manage your PR then? Because you appear to have found yourself in something of a media frenzy and then dropped your PR manager.”

“Mackenzie is,” Adam says. The blue haired intern grins at him across the room from under her blue bangs. Well, at least Ronan thought she was an intern, apparently he was wrong. One of these days he’s really going to have to learn that just because an employee isn’t wearing a suit, doesn’t mean they’re an intern.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nancy says, but this time it’s Mr Gray who interrupts her.

“Actually, Nancy, it’s well within Adam and Blue’s rights to request that they don’t work with certain members of Cabeswater staff. Besides, Mackenzie’s proved she’s capable of handling full PR packages, and I’m sure this is the only _media frenzy_ Page of Cups intend to be a part of.”

“You’ve worked so hard for the label for such a long time,” Declan says. “It’ll do you good to start relinquishing some responsibility.”

Declan’s very pointedly not looking at Ronan. It’s glaringly obvious to him that Declan’s barely acknowledged his presence here, but he doubts that anyone else has noticed.

“Well, if that’s everything?” Adam says.

“Yes, I think so. Thank you for you time, Ms Jones. Your presence is no longer required at this meeting,” Mr Gray says.

Nancy looks livid, like she’d very much like to kick up a fuss, but she stands and snaps her laptop shut.

On her way out of the door, Adam says to her, “You’ve got lipstick on your teeth, by the way.”

*

In the taxi, on the way to the hotel, Ronan turns to Adam and says, “I am sorry. Still. About that interview.”

“I kind of anticipated it. I know you, Ronan. It was worked into my plan. I didn’t know the specifics, but I knew you’d do something. Will you get it into your head that I’m not mad?”

“I’ll get there. Also, I’m not sure you needed to wreck that woman’s whole career, but it was very sexy to watch.”

“I didn’t wreck her career. Cabeswater represents 14 other musical acts, and as long as she doesn’t drag up someone’s fraught relationship with their parents when it’s off topic again, she’ll be fine.” Adam frowns. “Sexy? Really?”

“Hell yeah. The whole thing was hot. Can that Adam fuck me later?”

“I don’t know, he’s on a very tight schedule. Have you prepared your topics for discussion?”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got some ideas. Do you need me to email you the agenda?”

Adam laughs. “Do you even know the password to your own email account?”

*

Up in Adam’s hotel room, Ronan finally gets the chance to hold Adam, like he’s been wanting to since he got to New York. His arms wrap around Adam’s narrow frame, and one of Adam’s hands cups the back of his neck, the other sliding cold fingers under his t-shirt. They stand there in the middle of the room like that, for a long time. 

“I did the right thing. Right?” Adam asks, eventually, his face pressed into Ronan’s shoulder. It’s the first time Ronan’s ever heard him sound uncertain about something, and he thinks maybe Adam’s been holding that uncertainty inside this whole time.

“Fuck ‘em. It’s your life.” Ronan kisses Adam’s bad ear.

“I just got sick of it. I just got sick of the speculation, I got sick of the rumours. And I’m sick, sick, sick of being told what’s best for me when I already know what is. And I’m sorry, I should’ve said something to you first.”

“What? Why would I care? It’s your life, and it’s your band.”

“Yes, but it’s _our_ relationship.” Adam pulls back slightly to look him in the eye. “It’s my life, and my band, but it’s your band and your life too. You’ve already had to give up too much control and—”

“You think I don’t want everyone to know? I wanna be like one of your weird little teenage fans and wear my sparkly Mrs Adam Parrish t-shirt in public.”

“My fans do not do that.” Adam looks offended on their behalf.

“You’re right, they’re all too weird and socially awkward to do something like that. But I would.”

“Don’t be mean about my fans. You’ll never be Mrs Adam Parrish that way.” He says it seriously, but he’s grinning.

“Oh yeah, because being mean has got me nowhere with you.” Ronan presses his forehead against Adam’s, and he smirks teasingly.

“Being good’ll get you further.” Adam’s voice drops lower; the mood in the room shifts.

“Will it now?”

“You know it will. Or do you just not do what your told for anyone at all anymore?”

“Just you. The payoff isn’t as good for anyone else.”

“Great,” Adam says, and then with a dirty smirk, he says, “Because I want you to fuck me. And I want you to do it just how I tell you to.”

Ronan swallows. Shit, he’s missed Adam so much.

“You never do as you’re told, do you? Unless it’s me. You gonna show me you can do as you’re told? You’re gonna fuck me, and you’re gonna do it exactly how I want. You gonna be good for me?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Ronan.” Adam cups his jaw with one hand and rubs his thumb over Ronan’s bottom lip. “Don’t swear.”

Instead of replying, Ronan hooks his tongue around Adam’s thumb and sucks it into his mouth. Adam’s watching him with dark eyes and Ronan can’t think about anything other than how badly he wants him.

His lips brush Adam’s thumb, as he says, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Take off your clothes for me.” Adam steps away and sits on the end of the bed. He watches Ronan undress, palming himself gently through his jeans.

“Come here,” Adam says, once Ronan’s naked. Ronan moves towards him, stands between his legs. Adam’s analytical gaze slides up and down his body; Ronan feels the weight of his eyes catching on his thighs, his cock, his chest. Ronan’s hard, he’s been hard since Adam first started talking with _that_ voice.

“Why don’t you tell me what _you_ want,” Adam says, and he wraps his hands around Ronan’s hips. Ronan can feel his breath on his cock. He almost gives in then, almost begs Adam to put his mouth on him.

But Ronan remembers what Adam told him he wanted before, so he answers the question instead.

“I wanna give it to you just how you want, want you to fuck you so good you lose control,” Ronan says. He runs his fingers through Adam’s hair and Adam pushes into the touch.

He grins up at Ronan. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Ronan kisses him hard, pushes Adam back down on the bed and lays down next to him. He keeps kissing him as he scrambles to take Adam’s shirt off. Adam’s trying to kick his jeans off at the same time, but neither of them want to pull away from the kiss to make it easier. Adam’s laughing into the kiss, and when he’s naked too, he pulls back and grins mischievously at Ronan.

“Sit up, against the pillow. Watch me. Don’t touch,” Adam instructs. He rolls away and grabs the bottle of lube from his bag.

Ronan bites his lip, and he almost has to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out when Adam kneels over his lap and turns away from him. He watches Adam slowly fingering himself open, listens to the showy moans he makes, watches him push back, tantalisingly close to Ronan’s hard cock.

“Adam, please.”

“Something you want?” Adam teases.

“You know there is.”

Adam turns back around, and he kisses Ronan hard, biting his bottom lip, licking hard into Ronan’s mouth. Ronan moans as his cock slips between Adam’s slick ass cheeks. The head of his cock catches on Adam’s hole and it takes all of Ronan’s determination not to take Adam by the hips and move him right where he wants him.

Adam raises an eyebrow at him, like he knows exactly what Ronan’s thinking. He smirks as he grinds back again, letting Ronan’s cock rub infuriatingly against his skin again. “Are you gonna ask?”

“Please, I want you.”

Adam doesn’t reply, he just rises up onto his knees and uses one hand around Ronan’s cock to guide it into him as he sinks back down. He goes so slowly, and Ronan doesn’t know where he gets the willpower from to move so slowly, when Ronan feels like all of his body is crying out for friction, pressure, release, _anything._

Adam’s tight and hot around his cock and Ronan has to grit his teeth to stop himself from thrusting his hips up into him. As soon as Adam gives him permission, he’s going to let go, but not before.

“You can touch me now.” The words are barely out of Adam’s mouth before Ronan’s got his hands on him, he can’t stop touching him now that he’s allowed again. He runs his hands up Adam’s thighs, feels the strain in his muscles as he holds himself up on Ronan’s cock. Ronan runs his hands up Adam’s chest, teasing around his nipples. One hand cups his jaw and Adam turns his head into it, kisses his palm. Ronan’s other hand trails around to Adam’s back, down, until he finds the place where his cock disappears inside of him. Ronan teases his fingers around where Adam is stretched around his cock, and Adam makes a loud, broken gasp.

“You’ve been so good. Are you gonna fuck me now? Give it to me just how I want?”

“Yes.”

“Go on then.”

Ronan’s hands go up to Adam’s shoulder blades, and he surges up beneath him and rolls them both over. Adam grunts a little as his back hits the bed, but it turns to a moan when Ronan starts to fuck him, hard and fast.

“This what you meant?” He asks Adam, sure of the answer, but wanting to hear him say it anyway.

“Fuck, yes,” Adam breathes.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the bitten off moans that drip from Adam’s mouth every time Ronan thrusts deep inside him, and the obscene, wet sound of Ronan’s cock moving inside him.

Ronan grips his hips and grinds in deep. Adam throws his head back and groans, deep and long. It’s like something’s coming unravelled inside him. Ronan feels smug.

“Think you’re still in control?” Ronan teases.

“Oh I knows I am,” Adam bites back, but he doesn’t look it. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and there’s a pretty pink flush across his cheeks.

But still, Adam’s hands move from where they’ve been clutching Ronan’s shoulders. He takes a firm grip of the back of Ronan’s neck with one hand, and the fingers of the other trail across Ronan’s jaw. Ronan pushes into the touch and when Adam’s fingers slide into his mouth, he moans around them.

“See,” Adam laughs.

“Huh?” Ronan can’t remember what Adam’s teasing him about, he’s too focused on the feeling of Adam clenching tight around his cock, and Adam’s fingers inside his mouth. Adam’s other hand has moved though, and when Ronan feels fingers pressing against his hole, he remembers the game they’re playing.

Ronan stops thrusting, and he moves his hands from Adam’s hips and reluctantly removes Adam’s fingers from his mouth. He also takes Adam’s other hand off his ass and pins both his hands to the pillow.

Adam’s smirking at him still. “What are you gonna do now?”

Ronan doesn’t answer verbally, he just leans in and kisses Adam, hard. He bites at his bottom lip and fucks his tongue into Adam’s mouth, mimicking the lewd grind of his cock in Adam’s ass.

He still feels like Adam is laughing at him a little bit, but it’s not a feeling that lasts long because he starts moving again. Ronan moves his hands until he’s got both of Adam’s wrists in one hand, pinned to the pillow above his head. He sits back then and starts fucking him fast and shallow, his free hand holding Adam’s hips to the bed.

Adam’s watching him the whole time, his eyes are dark, but he’s still teasing, just a little. “It’s cute, that you think I’m gonna give it up that easily. That you think you’re not doing exactly what I want.”

Maybe he’s teasing a lot. Ronan growls.

“Don’t you think I can make you beg?” Ronan asks, as he slows down his thrusts. He fucks his cock into Adam, slow and shallow, just enough that it relieves some of the tension he’s holding, but not enough that it’s going to get either of them off.

“I think you can. I just don’t think you want to.” Adam arches his back up from the bed, uses the leverage to push down against Ronan’s cock, encourage him deeper. His heels dig into the small of Ronan’s back too, drawing him in closer. “You’ll give me anything I ask for, straight away, won’t you?”

Ronan doesn’t bother trying to pointlessly deny it. “Yeah, I will.”

He swallows and then moves his free arm to support himself as he leans over Adam again.

“Fuck me deep and hard then. Get me off. Want you to make me come, Ronan,” Adam says.

Ronan lets go of his wrists so he’s got a hand free to wrap around Adam’s cock. He smooths the precum dripping from the head of Adam’s cock right down the shaft and gives him a tight grip to thrust up into, in time with the speed that Ronan’s fucking him with now.

Adam’s fingers are back in his mouth too, and Ronan thinks it probably means that either Adam likes It too, or he knows how much Ronan does. Or both. He sucks on Adam’s fingers, focuses on all the hot places their bodies are joined and when Adam comes, wet and messy between them, it feels like an accomplishment.

Ronan’s still achingly hard though. He moans around Adam’s fingers, tries to ask him if he can come too.

“What’s that? You wanna come?” Adam takes his fingers from Ronan’s mouth. The spit that comes with them leaves a filthy trail on Ronan’s chin.

“Yeah, please.” There’s no reason he should be waiting for Adam’s permission, but it feels wrong, suddenly, to not have it.

“I thought you were in control?” Adam smirks.

“Please, Adam.”

“Fuck, you’re so good. Fuck me so well, just how I wanted,” Adam says. “Are you gonna keep going? You can come, Ronan.”

It doesn’t take much more after that. Ronan thrusts a few more times, deep inside of Adam and he comes with a shout, the feeling coursing through his whole body, making his legs jerk and fireworks explode behind his eyes.

*

After, they’re lying tangled in the bed together, neither of them has made a move yet to get anything to clean up with. Adam finds that he really doesn’t mind. He can’t find it in himself yet to let go of Ronan long enough to clean up the sticky mess smeared between them. Disgusting, yes, but this moment is utterly perfect regardless. Ronan’s head is resting on his shoulder and Adam’s got his arms around him, idly drawing circles and tracing the lines of his tattoo with his fingertips.

“Have you been doing much here? Other than being your own lawyer or whatever the fuck that was,” Ronan says. He sounds worn out, and Adam doesn’t think it’s just because of the sex.

“Mostly meetings at Cabeswater to be honest. It’s a lot of effort to set up a new PR team specifically for your band, that doesn’t involve the actual head of the department.” Adam sighs. “I’ve been looking for apartments too.”

“Right. Find anything?” Ronan’s question is toneless.

“No.”

Adam carefully watches Ronan’s face after he gives his answer. Ronan’s trying to look sympathetic, but there’s an edge to his expression that’s cautiously hopefully, and slightly smug.

“You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

“I wasn’t! I know how important it is to you to live on your own, or whatever,” Ronan insists, and Adam believes him.

Something occurred to Adam earlier though, when he saw Ronan again in the Cabeswater office. All week he’s been waiting to be somewhere that could feel like home, and it wasn’t until he was back with Ronan that he realised home didn’t have to be place. Adam’s never really known what a home should feel like, but if it doesn’t feel like this moment doe, right now, then he doesn’t want it.

“Yeah. There’s no rush on that though,” he tells Ronan. “I was thinking, that when I get back from the UK, I’d like to go somewhere that the internet is patchy and there’s no phone signal.”

“Hmm, cows too?” Ronan’s grinning at him.

“Yeah, and you.”

“Smooth, Parrish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not a lawyer, nor do I know anything about the music industry really. Suspend your disbelief 😉
> 
> Cannot believe I'm saying this, but there is only one more chapter left after this one!! (Of the main fic anyway, I cannot promise that I'm not going to end up writing loads more in this AU because I kind of love it whoops)
> 
> Thank you all for comments and kudos and the love this fic gets <3333


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam doesn’t get asked about Ronan nearly as much as he thought he would, actually. Since they put the official statement out, their relationship is finally a fact, not the stuff of speculation and rumour. The world, it seems, has moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!! I hope you enjoy it!!! <333
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Tea, in lieu of my first born lol

The whole time Adam and Blue are in the UK, the primary thought in Adam’s head is that he can’t believe there are so many people in a country he’s never been to that listen to his music and care about who he is. He’d be overwhelmed by it, if he didn’t have Blue with him the whole time. 

She’s sat next to him now, chatting amiably to the magazine journalist interviewing them, while Adam zones in and out of the conversation.

“And how’s Ronan?” Adam jumps to attention at the mention of Ronan’s name, just like he would if his own had been said.

“He’s fine,” Adam replies, coolly.

“Bet you’re looking forward to being back in the States,” the interviewer says, with a smirk. 

“I’m just enjoying the tour,” Adam replies. “You know, we’ve moved on from the drama, we can close that chapter. Then when I get home, we’re able to start a new one.”

Adam gives his cryptic stock answer. _We’re fine, we’ve had our privacy invaded enough, now let’s move on,_ it says. Blue looks amused by Adam’s answer.

“Like any couple, they deserve some privacy. It was wrong of people to violate it.” Blue says. Her words are sharp, but her tone is still friendly and conversational. Adam hears the nervousness deep in it. Blue’s been discussing making her relationship with Gansey public, and he knows she’s apprehensive.

He doesn’t get asked about Ronan nearly as much as he thought he would, actually. Since they put the official statement out, their relationship is finally a fact, not the stuff of speculation and rumour. The world, it seems, has moved on.

Ronan’s stupid tweets haven’t stopped though.

Nightwash_of_Cups: @fakeronanlynch are you looking forward to Adam coming back?

Ronan Lynch: @Nightwash_of_Cups the most exciting thing about @thenparrish coming home is that he’s gonna bring me a giant toblerone from the airport

Nightwash_of_Cups: @fakeronanlynch you must be excited about more than that!

Ronan Lynch: @Nightwash_of_Cups clearly you’ve never had a dark chocolate giant toblerone

*

Ronan picks him up from the airport, and Adam spots him at arrivals as soon as he’s through the doors. In fact, he’s so focused on Ronan that he almost walks right past where Maura, Calla and Persephone are waiting for Blue. Blue grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket and directs him to at least say hi to his family before disappearing. Adam’s hyperaware of Ronan watching him the whole time. He’s stood a little away from the rest of the group, leather jacket and sunglasses, despite the overcast day.

When Adam’s finally hugged, and been hugged by everyone, and said hello and then goodbye again, he finally goes to Ronan. Ronan drops his stupid asshole rockstar façade as soon as Adam is within range and hugs him tightly. Adam breathes him in, and feels all the loose pieces slot back into place.

“Did you get my Toblerone?” Ronan asks, still holding Adam tightly.

“Yes, asshole,” Adam replies, smiling in spite of himself.

Ronan picks him up from the airport, and it feels like coming home.

*

Adam doesn’t mean to fall asleep in the car on the way to the Barns, but it’s late at night for him, and he’s been on the move all day. Adam only means to rest his eyes, but when he opens them again, the grey city skyline has been replaced with rushing green forest on either side. He feels the car accelerate slightly and then his stomach swoops as they drive over a dip in the road. The feeling wakes Adam up properly and he jolts upright.

“Sorry,” Ronan laughs. “I always have to speed up for that bit. We’re nearly there.”

“Already?” Adam feels like he only sleeps for a few minutes, not two hours.

“Yeah, you were asleep before we’d left DC. You were snoring.”

“I was not.”

“And how would you know?”

Adam rolls his eyes. He wasn’t snoring, he’s sure of it.

In his head, Adam’s idea of what he’s expecting the Barns to be like, is constantly changing. Part of him is expecting a much too large mansion and sprawling, perfectly kept grounds. But then, he can’t imagine that being the kind of place Ronan would want to live. Adam knows there are cows, so maybe the Barns, is literally that, just a bunch of barns on a farm out in the Virginia countryside. But then, why would a rock star raise his family on a farm?

Ronan slows the car, and turns down a driveway so narrow and hidden, that Adam wouldn’t have noticed it at all. Even the stone pillars that mark the entrance are cloaked in tangled ivy. The trees press in even closer around the car and it’s so dark, that the BMW’s automatic headlights switch on.

Ronan takes a deep breath in. Adam wonders if it means he’s being reminded of his father, as he drives up here. There are some things, Adam thinks, that he will never understand about Ronan.

“Everything okay?” Adam asks him. Maybe Ronan just needs the reminder that he isn’t alone right now.

Ronan lets the breath go. “It’s just… home, you know?”

Adam does, and he doesn’t. He thinks about how it would feel to turn into the dirt road leading to the trailer park. How it feels now, to be in the car with Ronan, driving somewhere he’s never been, but feels familiar already. Memory is heavy. This shadowed road to the Barns is full of it.

Ronan’s hand is white on the gear stick. Adam rests his hand on top, and squeezes. Suddenly, they burst from the darkness of the trees into the sun.

Ahead, the driveway turns to gravel and the farmhouse sits ahead, nestled in the dip between two hills. It’s wild and it’s not at all what Adam expected. The house is grown into the landscape, like it was planted as an acorn, at the same time as the oaks around it. It looks organic, the whole scene could have been pulled from folklore. Adam feels like he’s been driven down a tunnel to another world.

The car rumbles across the driveway, and Ronan showily flicks the rear end at the last moment, spraying gravel everywhere. Adam rolls his eyes.

“Are they your cows?” He asks, gesturing to the herd ambling across the distance hill, as he gets out of the car.

Ronan’s at the trunk already, getting Adam’s bags. “Nah, there’s a farm over the hill and we let the cows graze over here. We used to have our own, when I was a kid. Other animals too, chickens, sheep, you know, that kinda shit.” He pauses. “Literally.”

Adam snorts. “All this time I was thinking that your childhood was all tour buses and backstage passes.”

“That too,” Ronan says, as he walks up the steps of the front porch. At the top of the stairs, he turns back around and surveys the gravel driveway, and the trees that line it and ring the property like a wall. “Weird dichotomy.”

Adam agrees. He can barely get it straight in his head, how the rush of tour and the noise of the crowds feel like they happened in another lifetime now that he’s here within the secluded ring of trees.

Ronan unlocks the door and leads the way inside. Adam feels like he’s walking into something bigger than himself, bigger than the relationship he’s had with Ronan up until this point. The thought doesn’t scare him though.

Inside, nothing matches, there’s no consistent theme, clutter covers every surface. It’s a museum, it’s a storybook, it’s a transient mess, it’s a home. Everything Adam sees has a memory lingering on its surface, but nothing is unnecessary.

Everything is Ronan. In the same way that Adam couldn’t take his eyes off of Ronan in the Vatican, he can’t look away from him here either. He belongs here, too, perhaps more than anywhere Adam’s ever seen him before. It’s not that Adam hasn’t seen this version of Ronan before. Long nights on tour buses, early mornings in hotel rooms; but this soft version of Ronan was always accompanied with his usual edges. Now, it’s like all his sharp edges are rounded off.

Adam can’t not reach out for him. He wraps his arms around Ronan, buries his face in his neck and breathes him in again.

“You gonna give me a tour?” Adam asks, speaking against Ronan’s skin.

“Was gonna give you something else,” Ronan replies, teasing, his chin resting on top of Adam’s head.

“Oh.”

Adam was wrong before. Hugging Ronan at the airport wasn’t the homecoming, this kiss is. It’s warm, and familiar and his hands fit over Ronan’s hips like that’s where they’re meant to be. Ronan’s tongue glides along his bottom lip and Adam opens his mouth to it on a gasp.

It's familiar, and it’s like coming home, but it still ignites a spark inside of Adam. The warmth he always feels when he’s around Ronan grows, as their bodies press together. He can feel Ronan’s cock hard against him, and when Adam grinds his own against it, Ronan moans and surges forward. Adam stumbles back and bangs his hip against a sideboard, but before he can say anything, Ronan’s dropped to his knees and is holding Adam against it.

“You’re not blowing me in the hallway of your childhood home,” Adam says, even as Ronan works his jeans open.

“It’s not like anyone’s gonna walk in,” Ronan replies, looking up at Adam, his mouth bitten red and his lips swollen like he’s already had Adam’s cock between them.

“Still, it’s not… appropriate.” Adam’s only really protesting this because he wants to be on a _bed._ He’s too jetlagged to stand up anymore, even with the support of the sideboard.

Ronan kisses Adam’s hard cock through his boxers. “I want it though.”

“You want me to fuck your mouth?”

“Yeah, please?”

“Take me upstairs then,” Adam says.

Adam’s going to get Ronan to give him a proper tour later, but for now he’s too keen to get his hands on Ronan properly. And to get on a bed.

Upstairs, Ronan strips his clothes off, and Adam leans against the wall watches, marvelling at Ronan’s body like it’s the first time he’s seen it. Ronan’s smirking at him and when he’s down to his boxers, he crosses the room to Adam. Adam groans into the kiss and lets Ronan press him into the wall, lets him undo Adam’s jeans again.

Ronan goes to sink to his knees again, but Adam holds him up with hands around his shoulder. He kisses Ronan’s neck, sucks and bites at the skin there, breathes him in and lets himself greedily make his mark on Ronan’s pale skin.

“I was gonna…” Ronan groans, as he tilts his head to give Adam more space. His hands are working Adam’s jeans down his legs, and then one is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, teasing at the crack of his ass.

“You’re too far away,” Adam says. This is the closest Ronan’s been to him for weeks but it still feels too far. Ronan looks back up at him, pupils blown, mouth red and wet, but he nods.

“Bed?” Ronan says.

Together they stumble to the bed, clothes shed on the way. Once they're both naked, they collapse to the bed and intertwine around each other, getting tangled in the sheets.

Adam feels suddenly wide awake. He can’t stop touching Ronan, feels like he needs to learn his body all over again. There’s no need for discussion, Ronan can’t stop touching him either, and it isn’t long before they’re rutting against each other. Adam doesn’t care, doesn’t want to separate from Ronan long enough to move to having any kind of proper sex. Ronan seems to have the same idea and Adam moans when Ronan wraps a broad hand around both of their cocks together.

Ronan’s other hand is rough in Adam’s hair, guitar callouses snagging on his scalp, sending sparks flying down Adam’s spine. Adam traces his fingers around Ronan’s lips. Ronan turns his head to catch them in this mouth.

“Could be sucking your cock right now,” Ronan whispers, around Adam's fingertips, voice dark and rough.

“Like sucking my fingers isn’t as good for you,” Adam replies, as he pushes them in deeper. “This is what I want.”

Nothing is more important in that moment than the feeling Ronan, moving solid against him. The house could fall down around them, the world could end, and Adam wouldn’t notice. 

His orgasm comes quicker than he expected, smearing mess between his body and Ronan's. Ronan is gasping desperately beneath him, chasing his own release, thrusting into his own hand. Adam covers his hand in his own come, and replaces Ronan's hand with his. He uses his come to jerk Ronan faster, and wetter. There's something primal, clawing at his insides, as he watches Ronan jerk and then come, with Adam's release all over him.

They're both breathing hard, looking at each other with stupid grins on their faces. Ronan kisses Adam gently, one more time, and says, "Welcome home."

*

The sun has fully set now, but neither of them make a move to turn the light on, or close the curtains. Adam lays on the bed, his head on Ronan’s chest, Ronan stroking his hair away from his forehead, and together they watch the sky darken and the stars come out.

“How was LA?” Adam asks, lifting his head slightly.

“Awful. They made me go on TV.” When Ronan speaks, Adam can feel the vibration of his voice through his deaf ear.

“Yeah, I saw it. You didn’t look pleased to be there.”

“I wasn’t. Flying across the country to do promo for a fucking online only album release. Completely fucking pointless. How was the UK tour?”

“It was good yeah, it went well. Smaller venues than we’ve been playing over here, but I like that.”

“Small venues suit your music,” Ronan says.

“Is that a backhanded compliment? Keep it small, bicycle boy?”

“Fuck off, it was not. I just meant it’s more intimate when you play somewhere small. That show in Henrietta you did was amazing because it felt so personal.”

“Aww, Lynch is that when you fell in love with me?”

“Nah it was that time you took off only your jeans before you jumped into a rooftop pool. Who does that?”

“I didn’t want to ruin them!” Adam protests. “Wait that was the moment?”

“It’s not like I had an epiphany. You just took your jeans off and jumped in the pool and I was like fuck, I’m in love with this weird asshole.” Ronan swallows; Adam feels the movement. “I finished that song, on the flight from Chicago.”

“I love you,” Adam says. He doesn’t know what else he can say to that, right now. The words come so easily now; he doesn’t know why he ever worried that they wouldn’t.

“I love you too,” Ronan says, and then, “I’m glad you’re here,” which means more.

Adam presses a smile to Ronan’s chest. _Home,_ he thinks.

*

Ronan’s in the kitchen, trying to find something for dinner that’s not reheated leftovers for the third night in a row, when Adam strolls in looking, well, odd.

It’s not that Ronan thinks something is wrong. If something were wrong, Adam wouldn’t be smiling that broadly, but he is moving around the kitchen a little restlessly. He’s rearranging the mismatched mugs that hang from the bottom of the cupboard into a repeating pattern of colours. It’s not that that makes Ronan think that something is wrong, it’s just the whole thing is a little unusual.

When he notices that Ronan’s watching him though, Adam stops playing with the mugs and schools his expression into something neutral. He rests his back against the counter, and says, “Grammy nominations are out.” 

“Oh, is that all.” Ronan doesn’t give a shit about Grammy nominations. Or any music awards, really. The only music award he wants is an NME award and that’s only because of the trophy. 

“And…”

“And what?” Are the fucking Grammys the reason Adam’s all jittery? Ronan stops rummaging in the fridge.

Adam snorts and bites his lip. “If you cared you’d find out for yourself.”

“Oh jeez, just tell me.” He leans against the closed fridge door. There’s an Eiffel Tower fridge magnet digging into his back. “Please, what obscure Grammy did Page of Cups get nominated for?”

“New Artist.”

Huh. “That’s not particularly obscure…”

But Adam’s not done. “And album of the year.”

“Holy fuck.” Okay, Ronan definitely cares about the Grammys now. Adam deserves all the fucking awards the music industry has to offer, and he deserves album of the year most of all. Sargent too, he supposes.

“Fucking musical genius. I knew it.” Ronan’s actually so incredibly proud of Adam that he picks up and spins him round.

Adam cups Ronan’s face in his hands and kisses him. “Thought you didn’t give a shit about the Grammys?”

“I don’t. It’s not a big deal,” Ronan says but he’s smirking.

“You don’t think that. You gonna finally take career advice from me?”

“Fuck no. Call me when Fender want to make you a custom guitar.”

Adam screws up his face. “Does it have to be Fender?”

“Yeah, they make the best guitars.” Ronan finally puts Adam down, but he keeps his arms around him.

“You are definitely only saying that because they pay you to. We’re not on TV, Lynch.”

Ronan shrugs. They do pay him to say things like that.

“Besides,” Ronan continues. “You do need a new guitar. Now you’re a Grammy nominee, you can’t play that piece of shit anymore.”

“Excuse me, it’s not a piece of shit. I’ll have you know that guitar is in incredibly good condition.”

“Maybe so, but you could have four brand new shiny ones.”

Adam raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

“I know that, Lynch. But I don’t _need_ four shiny new ones.” He looks at Ronan shrewdly. “Maybe one though.”

Adam’s looking very carefully at Ronan, and Ronan doesn’t know what it means that he is. He worries, for a second, that whatever Adam says next, he won’t like, and it’ll be the start of an argument. They haven’t argued since Adam got here, resolving things without words even, more often than not. It doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen though.

But then Adam says, “Will you choose it with me?” and Ronan doesn’t know what he was concerned about.

*

It’s six days into the break, and Adam wakes up in the Barns, like he has every morning, tangled in soft sheets, Ronan sleeping next to him. They haven’t been sleeping wrapped up in each other, like they did on tour, not feeling the need to cling to each other in this private oasis.

Downstairs, everything is warm and hazy, dappled with sunlight and faded, like an old photograph. Adam’s standing in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter, drinking coffee from a chipped mug and watching Ronan fry bacon. Ronan’s naked, apart from the apron Adam made him put on, because, “Burns from bacon fat splatter aren’t sexy, Ronan.”

Adam’s watching the bacon sizzle, but he’s thinking about the apartments he looked at in New York. Every new apartment he’d visited, he’d walked in thinking that this one would be the one that had the _thing_ he was looking for. Standing here now, in this sun-drenched kitchen, it’s apparent that none of the apartments could ever have satisfied him. 

This is his home. And maybe the actual location of it will change, but that doesn’t matter. 

“Stop staring at me,” Ronan says, without looking away from his frying pan. 

“No.”

“Are you looking at my ass?”

“It’s right there. If you didn’t want me to look, you’d put pants on.”

Ronan smirks, and cracks an egg into the pan.

“I was thinking,” Adam says. “That maybe today we can drive into Henrietta and get my stuff out the storage locker? There’s not a lot in there, just things I didn’t bring on tour.”

Adam doesn’t worry that Ronan’s going to say no. He hasn’t said anything directly to Adam, about bringing his stuff here, but when he’d shown Adam round, it was obvious space had been cleared in certain rooms.

“If you’re sure,” Ronan says, without looking up from the pan. “I know you want your—” He gestures erratically with the spatula. “Own space.”

And that there, is why it’s so easy to be sure. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He still wants the apartment in New York, but Adam knows it’s not because he wants somewhere to escape to.

Blue called him last night about the Grammys, and they shouted excitedly down the phone to each. Last night, Adam played his own album, loudly, and didn’t cringe at his singing once. Last night, Adam tied Ronan down to their bed and fucked him until he begged.

This morning, he feels infinite.

*

Parrish opens the front door, as Declan gets out of his car. It should feel weird, someone who’s little more than a professional acquaintance to Declan, letting him into his childhood home, but then, this place has never really felt like Declan’s home. Parrish already looks like he belongs here far more than Declan ever had.

Declan stands awkwardly by his car, unsure of whether to go inside or not. Parrish just watches him. If he thinks it’s as uncomfortable as Declan does, he doesn’t comment.

“He’s out in the long barn,” is all he says as Declan decides to approach the house. He wonders if Parrish knows about his argument with Ronan. He’s looking at Declan like he knows, but then Declan’s always thought that Parrish has an uncanny way of looking like he already knows everything.

“I’m just gonna go--,” Declan gestures to the path that curves away from the house, down to the long barn. “Congratulations on the Grammy nomination, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Parrish says, and gives him a tiny half smile, and disappears back inside the house.

The path out to the long barn is muddy, and Declan treads it carefully, watching where he puts his feet so as not to ruin his shoes. There are murky puddles scattered all along the path, deceptively deep, and Declan makes a mental note to keep his distance from Ronan if they walk back along this path together.

He can hear Ronan before he’s even halfway to the barn. There’s a cacophony of sounds emanating from the direction of the barn. It makes Declan think of the war of noise that comes when an orchestra is warming up.

Declan lingers in the doorway of the barn, and the only acknowledgement Ronan gives of his presence is abandoning his sorting of cymbals and disappearing out of the side door, away from Declan. Declan moves away from the door too, and walks around to the side, in time to see Ronan climbing the rusty ladder that clings to the side of the barn and disappearing onto the roof.

“I wanted to talk,” Declan calls to him.

“So talk!” Ronan yells back.

Declan doesn’t bother to argue with him from the ground. He climbs the ladder, grateful that he’s up to date on his tetanus shots.

Ronan watches him, unimpressed and bored, as Declan crosses the roof to him. He sits down next to Ronan at the edge of the barn, legs dangling over the edge, feet suspended high above the muddy grass.

Ronan breathes out his nose, long and hard. Declan inhales, rolls his shoulders a little. They’re silent. The cows graze in the fields in the distance. The sun is just beginning to set, turning the sky a hazy lilac. Far away, a flock of birds swoop and dive as one. There’s a cold breeze, and the only sound is the rustling of it moving through the trees.

“I’m resigning. As your band’s manager,” Declan says, finally. “I think it would be beneficial, to both of us, if I—” he searches for the right words. “Stepped back.”

“Why now?”

“You know why now.”

Ronan nods. “What will you do instead?”

“There are other bands on the label. Ones that I haven’t got such a personal connection to.”

Ronan snorts.

Declan doesn’t look at him, as he says, “And I thought maybe I could try just being your brother again. Instead of your manager.”

“That would be… Better.”

Declan finally looks at him. Ronan’s smirking, but Declan can see what it is that he isn’t saying.

They’re silent again. Smoke starts to coil out of the chimney of the house, filling the air with the scent of woodsmoke. This may have never really been Declan’s home, but the smell is familiar, almost comforting, and it makes Declan feel nostalgic in spite of himself.

“Do you remember when you fell off of here?” He asks Ronan.

“Fell?” Ronan says, incredulously. “I was fucking pushed.”

“I didn’t push you; I was trying to grab you.”

“Grab me with the flat of your hand? Yeah, right. Attempted murder.”

Declan rolls his eyes. “A court would never have convicted me. You were a little shit.”

“Were?”

“Are,” Declan clarifies.

Silence again. A crow caws from a nearby tree.

“You’re happy?” Declan asks. “With Parrish?”

Ronan exhales through his nose again. “Obviously.” And then he says, “I know you think I made a big thing out of it on purpose. But. It just played out that way.”

“Ronan. I actually know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t learn to use Twitter just to piss me off,” Declan says.

“Yeah, you wish I cared that much about pissing you off.” Ronan throws a rusty screw off the roof. Declan watches it arc through the air and splash into a puddle. “Have you been to see Mom recently?”

Declan doesn’t want to answer that. But he does anyway. “I went last month. You know that.”

“Once a month.”

“Don’t start a fight with me now just for the sake of it.” It’s getting darker, the sun lost behind the hills. “Are you going to take Parrish to see her?”

“How do you know I haven’t already?”

“He’s been here a week and I know you haven’t been back to DC. Have you been to see her at all recently, Ronan?”

Ronan doesn’t answer. He’s got another rusty lump of metal in his hand, and he’s turning it over and over. Declan watches the movement, and waits.

“I’ve been,” Ronan says, eventually.

“Since you got sober?”

Ronan screws up his face. Guilt is an odd expression on him. “I’ve tried to. It’s-- I just--,” Ronan says. It sounds like he’s trying not to choke on the words. “She calls me Niall, Declan. Every time. She sees me and she sees him.”

Declan nods, he already knows. He doesn’t get the same reaction from their mother as Ronan does, but it hurts when she looks at him like she can’t figure out who he is. Like she recognises him, but doesn’t know why.

It’s getting colder, Declan can see his breath fogging in the air ahead of him with every exhale.

“Was that it?” Ronan asks.

“Yeah.”

“Good, because it’s fucking freezing.”

“Maybe if you wore a sweater—” Declan starts.

“You’re not my manger anymore,” Ronan says, accusingly, as he stands up.

“You’re right, if you freeze to death, I haven’t got to worry about finding Gansey a replacement.”

Ronan actually laughs, darkly. “Replacement? Fuck you, I am irreplaceable. If I die, Nightwash is over.”

“You’re on a five album contract,” Declan says, as he cautiously shuffles back across the roof to the ladder.

“Alright, I’ll wear a fucking sweater,” Ronan replies.

Declan climbs down the ladder first. As he walks away from the barn, he doesn’t turn around to check if Ronan is following, but he hears the thud of Ronan’s boots on the ground behind him.

As Declan had predicted, on the way back to the house, Ronan splashes straight through the middle of every muddy puddle. He seems to be making an effort to at least get a foot in every one, in complete contrast to Declan’s avoidance of them.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Ronan asks, as they approach the back door. If Declan hadn’t been watching him when he said it, he’d have thought it was a hallucination.

“Tell me you’re not the one cooking. I’ve still not recovered from the last time I ate something you’d cooked.”

“Your food poisoning wasn’t that bad.”

“I meant mentally.”

“Fair. Besides, how do you know Parrish isn’t worse than me?”

Declan rolls his eyes. “Another time. When Matthew’s home.” Whatever kind of cautious animosity he’s achieved with Ronan today, it’s probably still better to have the buffer of their younger brother between them.

“Course,” Ronan says, and he opens the back door.

Declan walks away down the path, back to his car. He’s only taken a few steps, when a thought occurs to him.

“Go see Mom again. Take Adam with you,” he says to Ronan. Ronan, standing in the arch of the back door, nods in acknowledgement.

*

“Having trouble?”

Inside, Adam’s seated at the grand piano in the centre of the music room. Ronan stands in the doorway and watches him for a bit. He’s running his fingers over the keys, but not playing anything. “Weight of expectation,” Adam says.

“You’re thinking about the second album already?” Ronan crosses the room, and sits on the piano bench next to Adam, his back to the piano.

“It’s been on my mind lately. How do you follow up your Grammy nominated debut album?”

“Only way is up, Parrish.”

Adam sighs. “I think, actually, from here, the only way is down.”

“Be positive. You’re not gonna _win_ the Grammy, have you seen what you’re up against?”

“Wow, what positive thinking,” Adam says, sarcastically. He’s smiling though.

“I mean, that you write this album, and then it goes on to win like, six Grammys. That’s up.”

Adam snorts, self-deprecating. Ronan watches him spread his fingers out across the keys. He wants to ask Adam to play something; watching Adam play piano makes Ronan feel quiet inside, like when he was a child and he’d lay beneath it and listen to his Mom play.

Instead, he says, “If you let yourself get bogged down in expectations, you’ll never write anything. So what if it doesn’t do as well as your first album, as long as it’s true to what you and Sargent want, and you like it, who gives a fuck about the fucking Grammys.”

“Sometimes you say things, and I can’t believe they’re coming out of the mouth of the guy who thinks the Murder Squash song is a good example of contemporary genre fusion.”

“It is! It’s a—”

Ronan doesn’t get a chance to extoll the virtues of the murder squash song, because Adam’s put his hands back on the keys, and he starts playing, loudly.

“This is good,” Ronan says.

Adam laughs. “This is the Phantom of the Opera, Ronan.”

“I thought it sounded familiar.”

Adam’s already moved on. He’s playing something upbeat and staccato now and—

“Is that uptown funk?”

Adam grins, and nods. He’s having to reach past Ronan to get to the higher keys on the piano.

“Dork,” Ronan says.

Adam keeps playing, keeps changing the song before Ronan has a chance to figure out what it is he’s playing. He’s so distracted by watching Adam’s hands, that he misses when Adam asks, “What did Declan want?”

“He’s quitting being my band’s manager.”

Adam nods, like he already knew. Maybe he did. He’s got a lot of good connections within Cabeswater these days. “How do you feel about that?”

“Weird. Good. I don’t know. Am I supposed to be happy that he doesn’t think I need babysitting anymore, or am I supposed to be pissed off that it was obvious that’s what he was doing? Am I supposed to be happy that’s getting away from a job that’s causing him stress, or am I supposed to be mad that managing me was too stressful for him?”

“I think you can be all of those things,” Adam says, which Ronan thinks is patently unhelpful.

Ronan playfully knocks his shoulder into Adam’s. Adam sways away and then back again, leaning right into Ronan. Ronan kisses the side of his head and Adam turns to catch Ronan’s mouth with his.

The kiss is warm, and soft, and something unravels inside of Ronan. Here he is, in the music room where he felt his whole childhood took place. This is the place, where he’s himself, most of all. And here he is, with this man, who he could never have imagined, not in his wildest dreams could Ronan have created Adam Parrish.

“Will you come and meet my Mom?” Ronan asks. “Not now, but, soon?”

“If you want me to, then I will,” Adam says, resting his forehead against Ronan’s. They’re sharing breath.

“I haven’t been back to see her much, lately. I just—"

“You need me with you?”

“Yes. I—”

“You don’t have to explain. I know.”

Ronan nods. _Tamquam alter idem,_ he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it's the end!! This has been so much fun, and I've learnt so much writing this fic. I've actually accomplished something that I never thought I would be able to, and I'm actually really proud of the outcome. I have also learnt a LOT! I hope you've all had as much fun reading this fic as I have had writing it!!
> 
> Thank you so so so much to everyone who's left kudos, comments, or sent me messages about this fic. You've all made this into such a great experience, and have really helped me push through challenges to get this finished! <33333
> 
> Also, I love this AU and I am not ready to let it go, so there may be more things from it in the future ;) (She says like she hasn't already written a whole load more stuff...)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought!!  
> I'm on Tumblr at [behindtheatlantic](https://behindtheatlantic.tumblr.com)! Once again, thanks for reading!!! <333


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